


Merlin: A Hogwarts History

by Mamalazzer



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin (Merlin), F/M, Hogwarts, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 85,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamalazzer/pseuds/Mamalazzer
Summary: After spending the better part of a thousand years as a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Merlin had given up hope that he would ever see Arthur again. Then Christmas 1993 happened and Sybil Trelawney wheezed out a prophecy about the return of the Once and Future King.As ecstatic as Merlin is about the news, he wishes it wasn't because they were slowly approaching the end of all times, with magic itself beginning to fade from the land. Merlin also wishes Sybil had warned him how much more of a brat Arthur would be as a modern teenager, especially because this incarnation of him - terrifyingly - seems to have magic, too.Somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, Merlin can hear Kilgharrah laughing at him.Featuring nosy portraits with too much time on their hands, reincarnated knights with a penchant for Quidditch and such a supreme amount of Pendragon prattishness that it is practically a character on its own.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 218
Kudos: 1046
Collections: After Camlann Big Bang





	1. The Portraits of Godric Gryffindor and Sir Cadagon

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slow burn. Arthur takes a little time to show up but it's worth it when he does, honest! This story tries to remain canon to both Merlin and HP, just with an added Merlin in the mix. Also, there's no romance until Arthur's finished school because NOPE.
> 
> For anyone who's read my previous story 'A Modern Manservant', there are a boatload of easter eggs from it.
> 
> The excellent artwork is by [ Miriam Presas](https://cyanide-chicken.tumblr.com/) \- she is absolutely incredible. Commission her! She's amazing. Enjoy!

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_**1991** _

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Never tickle a sleeping dragon. 

This was something Godric Gryffindor had learned quite literally over a thousand years ago when he was seventeen and so drunk off his arse he thought sticking a feather up the nostril of a beast called Kilgharrah would be an excellent idea.

Naturally, the dragon had been rather miffed about the whole affair. 

Theatrically monologuing how he was going to wear Gryffindor’s innards like a meat necklace, Kilgharrah had only stopped breathing fire when a crazy old man in maroon robes suddenly appeared. The old man had then proceeded to yell jibberish at the creature and waved a knobbly staff at the dragon as though it was a stray squirrel he was trying to shoo off his begonias. 

By the time Godric had realised he wasn't to be human jewellery, the dragon had huffed and flown off and the bearded old coot had whacked Godric solidly about the head for a full minute with the staff before he eventually got tired and invited him into his hut for a cup of tea.

"And that," boomed the present-day painting of Gryffindor grandly as he puffed out his watercoloured chest and tried his hardest not to burst with reflected glory, "was how I first met the great Merlin himself."

His audience -- which consisted of a large group of first year students, a few of his fellow portraits, one amused-looking professor and a large pet toad -- all peered up at his mounted portrait with generally underwhelmed expressions.

"That was it?" an unimpressed blond boy at the front eventually drawled out, sandwiched between two larger boys on either side of him who looked like they had been eating all his food. "That was how you met the greatest wizard of all time?"

"Oh yes," said Gryffindor happily, clearly missing the looks of disappointment as he carried on. "He also called me a whole range of colourful insults while he was hitting me. He was incredibly inventive, you know. Some of those names were truly inspired. To this day, I've never really found out what a 'dollophead' is."

"But what was he like?" a girl called Parvati pushed, looking a little frustrated by Gryffindor's bluster. "Personally?"

 _"Personally?_ " Gryffindor responded, making a face as though he hadn't the foggiest what that had to do with anything. He stroked his auburn beard thoughtfully, however and gave it a go. "A grumpy sort of fellow, I suppose. Gravelly voice. Mad as a hatter. Prone to walloping. Brilliant dancer and I've never seen anyone pickle an egg so wonderfully. Bit of an alcoholic though and for some reason he always seemed to be at the tavern..."

"But what about his magic," an Irish voice called out from the back, sounding decidedly exasperated now. "You must have seen him do some spells!" The boy even windmilled his arms about, trying to physically demonstrate what spell-casting looked like. The haphazard movement of his body clearly explained why Seamus Finnigan always seemed to set his eyebrows on fire.

"Ah! You wanted to know about his magic? Well, why didn't you say earlier, my boy!" Gryffindor cried out with enthusiasm, clutching his chest in a way that made the greying professor standing at the back roll his eyes with a snort. Godric was known to be something of a thespian. "How remiss of me! What would you like to know?" 

A plethora of questions were immediately shouted out by the students in attendance, each as excitedly phrased as the next. 

"Was he really the first ever person born with magic?" 

"Is it true he didn't need a wand?" 

“Could he really command dragons?” 

"Did his eyes really glow golden every time he did an enchantment?" 

"What are the significance of his pants?"

"What about the rumour that he's the giant squid in disguise?”

"Good god, child, what have they been teaching you?" Godric said with a start, so concerned about that last question that he looked a hair away from taking young Ernie Macmillan aside there and then for personal tuition. When he didn't, the boy let out an exhale of relief. "But yes, to answer the first few questions, Merlin was the first person ever recorded to be born with magic and the last known dragonlord, a gift that no one since has possessed. Some theorists waffle on about him being the father of magic and the inadvertent creator of the very first modern purebloods but all that seems a little romantic when I remember the batty old man who kept grousing about his hip and couldn't find a pair of matching socks to save his life.

"But even with his many eccentricities (and believe me, there were many), Merlin's magic was the most breathtakingly powerful -- the most beautifully elemental -- thing I have ever encountered.” Here a smile briefly twitched behind Gryffindor’s whiskers, somehow both fond and melancholy at once. “I once saw Merlin control the weather of an entire town with just a raise of his left eyebrow when he thought his hydrangeas were getting a little dry. Another time, he froze time itself when we were happened upon by bandits and then continued to let it stay frozen for a day and a half while we ate all their dinner and played a round of dice with the slaves we freed. He even sprouted countless apple trees -- creating actual life out of nothing! -- purely because he wanted to entice Helga to make her famous apple pies. Poor Helga, they followed her around for five days until she finally gave in.

"And his powers only got stronger with every spell he performed,” Gryffindor continued, sweeping his own arms in imitation. “By the time my fellow founders and I had started Hogwarts, he had stopped speaking out incantations altogether. It got to the point where the world just did what he wanted, as though pleasing a favourite child. I've never seen anything like it and I doubt I ever will again! Dumbledore has come the closest to mind but Albus is the first to admit that Merlin was in a league of his own.”

“So... he-he was there when you founded the school?" another student timidly asked, this one round-faced and huge-eyed as the toad in his pocket happily jumped out when he wasn't looking and headed towards the kitchens for a snack.

"Yes, he helped us build the library," Gryffindor replied, remembering the elderly man asking the animated books to move in single file toward their appropriate shelf. Godric had distinctly recalled having to break up a skirmish when _An Encyclopedia of Mythical Creatures_ and _A Magical Hunter's Guide_ had a difference of opinion and snapped angrily at each other, pages flying everywhere. It didn't help that every edition of _The Trouble with Trolls_ kept lumbering unknowingly into the fracas, large, confused and with no idea what section they sat in. "In fact, some of the very books you've seen in the library today were from his own personal collection. Miranda Goshawk herself admits that her Standard Book of Magic series is an abridged version of Merlin's very own spell book.

"He also added a few things to Hogwarts none of us were even aware of! A couple of those trick steps were pranks that ended up lasting because the strength of his magic didn't fade. The Room of Requirement itself seemed to have just accidentally magicked itself into existence when he couldn't find the toilet. Of course, being Merlin, he had somehow managed to break the laws of alchemy and magicked a solid-gold toilet of all things. The solid-gold toilet paper wasn't nearly as comfortable, however. I can't count how many times he grumbled about how chafed his nether regions were."

The entire group laughed at this with the marked exception of one girl. She stood tiny and bushy-haired at the front of the group and, were her lips not pursed in a thin line, her overly large front teeth would have been visible. With a large book almost half her size clutched to her chest, she had been looking unconvinced by Gryffindor's words the entire tour. Now, however, she seemed at her limit because she had finally expelled the breath she had been holding and threw her hand up in the air, as though she would physically drop dead if she didn’t interject. 

"Forgive me, professor," she said her words coming out all at once with her veracity, "but surely none of that could have happened. According to _Merlin: The Myth and the Man_ , Merlin was born in 513 AD. I know that wizards live longer lives than muggles but that would make him over four hundred by the time Hogwarts was founded. How could that be possible?" 

"Because Merlin's immortal, obviously," the red-headed boy next to her said, rolling his eyes like it was obvious. He was covered in so many freckles himself that it would have taken an immortal being to count them all. "He's still stuck in a tree or something," he said knowledgeably to the dark-haired, bespectacled boy beside him. "Mum told me."

"Well, using immortality as an explanation seems rather illogical to me," the girl sniffed, her nose pointed so high towards the ceiling that it was a wonder she hadn't fallen backwards and landed on her bushy head. The redhead let out a cough that sounded remarkably like 'The Philosopher's Stone'. The dark-haired boy unsuccessfully stifled a snigger.

Hermione Granger gave both Ron Weasley and Harry Potter an irked stare, as though she wasn't quite sure why she put up with either of them, before addressing Gryffindor again.

"Surely you don't really think Merlin's stuck in a tree, do you, professor?" she asked, as though worried about the state of Gryffindor's sanity. 

“Merlin, did someone say Merlin?” an excited new voice suddenly cried out before Gryffindor could reply.

A tiny knight and his rather fat pony stumbled into the frame beside Gryffindor's, causing Gryffindor himself to groan piteously and the bathing wood nymphs in the frame to shriek and duck behind the nearest object to hide their nudity. Two ended up in a bush, one clambered up a tree and the last one jumped all the way into Gryffindor's frame, who gallantly handed over his robe, even as he sighed heavily at the little knight.

“Sir Cadogan, I thought we talked about this," he said wearily.

The tiny knight, who had toppled spectacularly off his pony, apparently didn’t hear Gryffindor because he clanked heavily to his feet in his armour. He then tried to open his helm for a full minute, failed and eventually gave up to boisterously address the children.

“If you hearty young knights and maidens want to know about Merlin, come to me, Sir Cadogan, your resident knight around the Round Table!" he said dramatically, almost knocking himself out with his own greaves as he gestured animatedly with his hands. "I'm the local expert on him, you know. Merlin was one of my greatest friends and the finest sorcerer I have ever seen. He was the one who got me my appointment with the knights after he and I thwarted a monster straight from hell itself, a beast that rained fireballs from its mouth and swallowed men whole! After slaying this hellish fiend, I found myself sat at the Round Table, right beside the honourable -- and incredibly large! -- Sir Percival. Do you young whippersnappers know I sat at the round table?"

"Really, Sir Cadagon," Gryffindor rebuked, letting out a huff of impatience. "What have I told you about trying to hijack my part of the tour? It was bad enough last year when you re-enacted pulling Excalibur from the stone -- and don't get me started on when you put on a dress and sacrilegiously paraded around as Queen Guinevere -- but now this is getting ridiculous."

"Hijack?" Sir Cadogan repeated, mortally offended as he gave another flailing gesture with his hand that one of the wood nymphs luckily managed to duck before it broke her nose. "Brave sir! I would never-!"

"And that's the tour concluded," the professor leading the tour suddenly cut in, clapping his hands and smiling around at his students. "I think we've bothered Professor Gryffindor and Sir Cadogan here more than enough."

"Oh, it's no bother!" Gryffindor boomed magnanimously as he purposely turned his back on Cadogan, whose pony was now idly chewing on the wood nymphs' discarded small-clothes. "I always enjoy talking to the students. It makes me feel young!"

"It'll take more than that to make that old codger young," Seamus Finnigan muttered again from the back of the group, his words accompanied by titters.

The presiding professor gave Seamus a pointed stare before turning to the rest of the group. His thin lips were twitching despite himself, however.

"Alright, ladies and gents, your rumbling tummies are beginning to get embarrassing now so go and enjoy your lunch. Oh, and don't forget," he called after the retreating backs that had already made themselves halfway down the hallway, "you have to make sure to read Chapter Six of _Hogwarts: A History_ for our next lesson. We have a test!"

When Neville Longbottom responded to this by squeaking with worry and tripping over his own feet, the professor tried his hardest not to break into a smile. This was a battle he soon lost, however, when Trevor the toad bounced back from the kitchens and jumped into Neville's pocket without the boy even realising. A stolen and rather sizeable chicken drumstick was now clutched in the toad's mouth. 

There really never was a dull moment at Hogwarts. 

"On the subject of outrageous behaviour," said the amused professor, turning to face the portraits of Sir Cadogan and Gryffindor, trying to look stern and failing completely when he broke into a silly grin, "the fighting is getting slightly out of hand, boys. Do I have to worry about wands at dawn or will you both promise to behave yourselves?"

Both paintings had the good grace to look abashed under the professor's gaze.

"The pony ate my wand," Gryffindor muttered somewhat sullenly, "so no wand here."

"Aye, he ate mine, too!" Sir Cadogan said quite happily, patting the grazing pony on its fat flank with affection as though it had done something precious. The pony ignored him completely and continued to chew the underpants in its mouth. "He's going through a phase at the moment. It's all natural materials with him right now. It was nothing but tuna sandwiches and sausage rolls last month. He's a connoisseur of fine cuisine."

Sir Cadogan's proud smile dimmed slightly as the professor looked pointedly at him.

The teacher was middle-aged, with greying hair, dull brown eyes and a remarkably plain face that would have almost been forgettable had it not been for the curiously large ears on either side of his head.

He also had a gaze that somehow managed to reduce the two veteran portraits into naughty school children.

"We'll behave, sir," said the paintings in unison, hanging their painted heads with repentance. Sir Cadogan's armour in particular creaked with genuine despondency.

"Good," said the professor with a firm nod, mouth twitching at how sincerely contrite their expressions were. "It's not that I don't appreciate the stories, boys, even the embellished ones..."

"Embellished!" Sir Cadogan cut across him, clutching at his chest as though he was mortally wounded by these words. "My dear friend, I would never-"

" ‘Raining fireballs from its mouth like a monster straight from hell itself’?" the professor repeated back to him, raising an eyebrow.

Sir Cadogan opened his mouth and then closed it, confused. Quirking his head curiously, his armour squeaked once again.

"Is that... is that not what happened?" he asked, genuinely unsure as he turned to Gryffindor for confirmation. 

Merlin, even under the imperceptible glamour charm clinging to his features, couldn't stop himself from looking amused for all the galleons in Gringotts.

"No, Cadogan, that's not what happened," he said firmly, his affection obvious in his tone. "I distinctly recall the wyvern being too old and too fat to fly more than a metre in the air before it passed out from the exertion and fell asleep. It was still snoring pretty cheerfully when we moved it away from the village it had been terrorising to the beach, where I heard it happily spent the rest of its retirement sea bathing."

"Oh," said Sir Cadogan, momentarily deflating before he stood up straight again and lifted his chin. "Well, your bravery still knows no bounds, sir! And I am convinced that that monstrous beast had a hidden agenda of some sort. He had a look about him. Shifty. Crafty. Had he seen us, I'm sure he would have bitten our heads off!"

"I'm sure he would have if he had any teeth," Merlin said with gentle patience. He couldn't help it. He had always liked the courageous little knight, even when Arthur had thought the man was off his rocker. Even now, Merlin grinned when he remembered the pole-axed look on Arthur's face when a newly knighted Cadogan theatrically fell to his knees in reverence and sloppily kissed at Arthur's hands with such genuine adoration that Arthur had looked mildly terrified. 

"Anyway," Merlin continued, "despite the inflated stories, I did want to thank you both for the tour, even if that strange rumour about me being stuck in a tree surfaced again." Merlin wrinkled his nose. "Honestly, sometimes I don't know what Geoffrey of Monmouth was sniffing when he wrote that. He had probably been at the wine again. God knows I drove him to it."

"Ah, good old Geoffrey! He hated me so!" Sir Cadogan boasted happily, as though he was recalling some pleasant memory. "I could barely cross the threshold of the library before he shrieked at me to get out! Heaven knows why!"

Gryffindor, who was wincing at the volume of Sir Cadogan's words, looked like he knew exactly why. The bold look of disapproval on his face reminded Merlin so much of Arthur that his heart suddenly panged with genuine pain.

Even after all these years, it really never got easier.

Trying to swallow it down, Merlin cleared his throat and tried to plaster on a smile.

"You know, that was a pretty fancy description you made up for me back there with the new students, Godric. Father of magic, one of a kind? Good dancer? I think I'm blushing. I'm glad you never told the story about my lost underpants, though, I never would have lived it down. Those briefs have already made it into the common vernacular. I totally never lost my socks though, you liar." 

"Actually, you did. Constantly," Gryffindor reminded him in a voice Merlin had often heard exasperated children use on their out-of-touch parents. "Most of the time, you lost them while you were _wearing_ them and had your shoes on, which to this day I'll never understand."

Merlin sighed with fake annoyance.

"Tell the students all my secrets, why don't you?" he teased.

Gryffindor's good-humoured smile softened slightly.

"I did leave some things out," he said, looking across his frame to share a look with Sir Cadogan

"Yeah, thanks for not outing me," Merlin replied with a wry look, snorting at the thought of it. Hermione Granger would have lost her mind. "I'm not sure how well 'Merlin? Why, he's standing in a disguise right behind you!' would have gone. It would have been like a bad panto."

"It would have been more of a Greek tragedy, Merlin," Gryffindor said, looking so painfully sympathetic that Merlin felt a little winded under the weight of it. "I wish I could do something to alleviate all the sadness you carry with you." 

“Aye,” Cadogan piped up in agreement, uncharacteristically sombre for him as he stroked down the grazing pony’s mane. His eyes, which were always kind, seemed to look straight into Merlin’s soul. “Your wounds are still so fresh, my old friend.”

Throat dry, Merlin didn't try to deny it. It was as true today as it was a dozen centuries back. If anyone knew that, it was this man who had known him longer than almost anyone else.

"He'll turn up, you know," said Godric suddenly, as though he had read Merlin's thoughts. Merlin forced himself to give him a smile. Godric had been reassuring him with the same line for so long now.

"I know," said Merlin, not really knowing at all. After all, he had quite literally waited for hundreds of years and Arthur still hadn't returned. 

Plague, religious upheaval, political instability and war -- two of those being World Wars -- had all hit Albion as well as both Grindelwald and Voldemort's rises to power but apparently none of those had been dire enough situations for the return of the Once and Future King. 

It was enough to make Merlin lie awake at night, heart empty and magic pining as he wondered if Arthur would ever return.

He needn't have worried, however. 

Three days after the conversation with Gryffindor and Cadogan, Uther Pendragon was ushered onto the throne and it changed everything.


	2. Albus Dumbledore

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**1892-1945**

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The first time Merlin had noticed Albus Dumbledore was when the eleven-year-old had broken the record for the length of time it took the Sorting Hat to declare his house. The boy had just sat there serenely as he hummed a soft tune, his hands folded in front of him and his brilliant blue eyes barely blinking when "Gryffindor!" was shouted out exactly eleven minutes and twenty-four seconds later. 

Albus also, consequently, broke another record a few months later when he became the first person to guess who Merlin really was.

He did this by quite literally walking up to Merlin one day after his History of Magic lesson and saying,

"I know who you are."

Albus was a tiny thing back then even for a first year, with auburn hair, twinkling eyes and a knowing smile that looked like it knew all the secrets to the universe.

Merlin -- who at this time had aged his usual youthful self a few decades older -- had laughed Dumbledore's words off and humoured the young boy by replying with, 

"And just who do you think I am, Mr Dumbledore?" before being promptly responded to with a simple,

"Why, Merlin of course."

The boy then skipped off towards the library, leaving Merlin to gawp unattractively after him, his jaw dropping so far and so fast that it was a wonder it hadn't broken on the floor beneath him.

Naturally, Merlin had been left stunned by his words and had literally walked into three walls, the statue of the one-eyed witch and about five first-year students until a boy called Elphias Doge kindly steered him back to his office. 

Merlin was so thrown by Dumbledore's words that his chipped tea set, taking one look at his face, sprung itself into action and started to bustle around and make him a brew. By the time his sugar bowl bounced towards him tentatively and extended the heaped teaspoon in its clutches towards Merlin in silent enquiry, Merlin had calmed down slightly (but this was mainly due to him sticking his head between his knees while the chair he was sitting on patted him soothingly on the back with its upholstered arm like an old friend).

It was only afterwards when Merlin was lying awake in his bed -- restlessly tossing and turning so violently that the portraits on the wall began to threaten him with disembowelment -- that he realised that he hadn't actually denied Dumbledore's accusation.

So, the following day, he had planned to do exactly that. Unfortunately, this plan fell through spectacularly because all young Albus wanted to talk about the next time they met was the eating habits of the common garden gnome. Blinking at the obscurity of this, Merlin had told him (flowers, moist earth, leaves and, oddly enough, leftover ravioli) and had waited almost nervously for the subject to come up again but Dumbledore had just smiled and thanked him for his help. He did, however, turn around just as he headed off to his next lesson and softly said,

"Your secret is safe with me, professor," before skipping away and singing a strange set of words as he went. Merlin distinctively heard the words 'blubber' and 'nitwit' and tried not to feel too offended.

After that, they seemed to have an unspoken understanding between them. Albus knew who he was, Merlin knew that Albus knew and that appeared to be the end of it. Albus continued to be Merlin's brightest pupil and despite the unfortunate rumours that had followed the boy about his father, he had excelled like no one Merlin had ever seen before. He set a new precedent with his O.W.L results, did even better in his N.E.W.Ts and did things with a wand that seemed to break all the known laws of magic.

His brilliance was noticed by everyone, from the O.W.L examiner who had fainted when the painting of Copernicus himself took Albus' word over the official textbook's (Merlin had had to revive him with smelling salts and a poke to the head), to the other students, who were drawn to Albus' quick wit and charm. Albus was engaging and intelligent and had a propensity to show off just how good he was, something that earned him his fair share of admirers. The girls had especially taken a shine to him, which Merlin soon realised would only end in their own heartbreak when Dumbledore rather boldly told Merlin that he threw his 'quaffle through a different hoop'.

And, throughout it all, Dumbledore had kept his word; he hadn't breathed a word about Merlin to anyone else. What he did instead was to directly broach the topic of Merlin's true identity with Merlin himself.

The first time they talked about it, he had asked Merlin something so incredibly profound about his destiny with Arthur that they had sat down for a full hour, moving between discussing the meaning of life to the probability of fate. It was one of the most enlightening conversations Merlin had ever had and it made him stare at the boy in awe as he wondered what amazing things Albus would achieve in adulthood.

The second time they had talked about his true identity, Dumbledore had simply asked, "Do you get joint pain?" which had made Merlin snort tea out of his nose as he realised he honestly couldn't fathom this child out.

By the sixteenth time they had talked about his true identity, Merlin had completely lost count but he still remembered the question like it was yesterday.

"How is it you can cheat death?"

By then they had been years into their acquaintance and Albus had only recently lost his sister, Ariana. The death had changed Dumbledore remarkably. Gone was the almost cocky boy who would put on flashy shows for the other children and in his place was a quieter young man whose eyes didn't sparkle quite the way they used to. 

They had been having tea in Merlin's office when Albus had asked the question, his expression somehow both hollow and intense at the same time.

Merlin, who had been prodding at his sugar bowl to stop it from adding yet another enthusiastic spoonful into his tea, had blinked widely up at Dumbledore. 

Albus had never broached the topic of his immortality before, which was something even Merlin's office items had realised because they all soon turned to look at Dumbledore en masse, from his quills in their inkwells to his books, which poked their spines out of his bookcase to peek with curiosity. 

"I don't really know how the immortality thing works," Merlin had said finally, honest and careful, as he tried to gauge the oddly determined look on Albus' young face. Although Merlin had used a glamour spell at that time to look middle-aged, Albus suddenly didn't seem that much younger in comparison. "One day, I just realised that I had stopped ageing. Kilgharrah once told me it was because my magic wouldn't rest until my destiny was fulfilled. It was only when I heard about the Resurrection Stone and, much later, the Philosopher's Stone that I realised just how unique I really was."

"Can you die?" Dumbledore had asked, his eyes swirling with intensity.

"I've actually died hundreds of times,” Merlin had said with a wry, bitter smile. “I've just yet to find something that can keep me down permanently. I've had an arrow in the chest, been stung by a serket, I've drunk poison and survived even when I later found out the antidote I received would never have worked. It wasn't until after Arthur's death that I realised that I hadn't just had lucky escapes. I literally can't die. My magic won’t let me. It’s like my lifeblood. Maybe it might stop working if you chop my head off but I've never been brave enough to try."

He had occasionally been depressed enough to consider it but he didn't share that bit of information. From Dumbledore's face, it looked like the man had already worked that out. It was enough to make Merlin drop his strained smile.

"I have lived long enough to know one thing, Albus. Don't pity the dead. Pity the living. We're the ones that have to live on without them. But most of all, don't dwell on what might have been. Grief and regret can drive a man mad if he lets it. Remember your sister and what she meant to you. Keep your good memories of her fresh in your mind. Which reminds me," here Merlin clapped Albus paternally on the shoulder as he eased to his feet, something Gaius had done so many times before that Merlin had lost count, "there's a spell I created that helped me when I was at my darkest. Maybe it will help you. I call it a Pensieve.”

“You invented the Pensieve?” Dumbledore said, looking in awe at the rune-covered wooden bowl Merlin and pulled from his cupboard.

“Um, it was sort of an accident?” Merlin confessed, scratching the back of his ear a little sheepishly.

He really had made it unintentionally. He had been sitting at a tavern a few years after Arthur’s death, trying to recall the last time he had frequented one with Arthur when panic began to settle in because he honestly couldn't remember. Before Merlin knew it, he had begun pulling strands of memories frantically out from his head and placing the wisps into an empty tankard until it began to overflow onto the table below.

He had filled four tankards, a water pitcher and what looked like a fisherman's left boot when he realised he would need something bigger. So he enchanted the large wooden fruit bowl sitting behind the bar and the rest, as they say, was history.

After the Pensieve incident, Dumbledore and Merlin didn't talk about Merlin's immortality again but their relationship had forever changed that night. The men dove from memory to memory together, from alternating between sitting on the grass watching Arthur during practice to smiling at Ariana's chubby face light up with glee as a seven-year-old Albus created shapes in the air for her amusement. Merlin showed Albus some of the more ridiculous moments in Camelot, with Arthur braying like a donkey being the highlight and evoking the first laugh Merlin had heard from Albus since his sister's death. 

As always, once Merlin slipped into a memory of Arthur (eating dinner, laughing at a joke with the knights, fighting like a demon on the training grounds) he was loathed to part from it, even if he could only interact with him as an observer. Merlin had thought he had known Arthur's face well enough in the past but now there wasn't a slope of his cheek or an uneven tooth in his mouth that he didn't know. 

There had literally been a whole year when Merlin would retire into the Pensieve every night for bed, choosing one particular memory of he and Arthur lying under the stars to curl up to. Arthur's soft breathing always lulled him to sleep, the wood of the fire crackling as the occasional owl hooted.

Of all the memories of Arthur he watched, however, Merlin never attempted to relive Arthur’s death. The first time had been unbearable. He honestly didn’t think his heart could take it again.

"He was such a clotpole," Merlin had said to Albus once, smiling fondly as he and Albus watched Arthur get knocked out for the umpteenth time by some wayward bit of magic.

"A handsome one, too," Albus had replied in a knowing sort of voice, his eyes glittering at Merlin in a way Merlin didn't want to examine too closely. He didn’t respond but he had a feeling his silence said more than enough.

In the greater scheme of things, Merlin realised it took Dumbledore a very short amount of time to become one of the closest friends he had ever had. The fact that a living person knew who Merlin really was -- that Merlin could finally be himself -- was incredible to him. He could even drop his glamour and reveal his real face, something he hadn't done for a century. The first time he did this had been particularly memorable because Albus went a little pink in cheeks as he took in Merlin's youthful appearance, something Merlin was quite flattered by if he were honest. 

Albus had also turned out to be the perfect confidante. He didn't bombard Merlin with questions about his power like anyone else would have done. Instead, he simply talked to Merlin as a contemporary, occasionally going to Merlin for advice. He hadn't even shared Merlin's secret with Gellert Grindelwald when the boys had been as thick as thieves. 

Years later, when Grindelwald had betrayed Albus and become a tyrant, Merlin had been there and had felt the strength of Albus' pain like it was tangible.

"I am sorry," Merlin had said when he had eventually found the man sitting in the boathouse on the grounds, staring at the calm waters as though he was debating whether or not to throw himself into them. They had been quiet for a good ten minutes, sitting side by side in a strangely companionable silence and watching the Giant Squid make ripples in the lake, when Albus finally spoke. 

"He wanted me to join him," he had said in the soft, matter-of-fact tone he always seemed to employ. 

Merlin hadn't asked what Albus was talking about. He already knew.

"Why didn't you?" Merlin had asked honestly. 

"Because it was the wrong thing to do," Albus said simply, as though there was no other solution.

Merlin had thought back on all the bad choices he had made, all the deaths he had personally carried out in Arthur's name. He had never regretted a single one of them and he could have easily killed more if it brought Arthur back to him. He would have walked into the fires of hell itself for Arthur if he had asked him to. It reminded Merlin of the one time he had deigned to put the Sorting Hat on his head, already knowing the answer but still smiling grimly when "Slytherin!" was called out.

"You are a better man than me, Albus," Merlin had said truthfully, slipping his shaking hands into the folds of his robes. They had suddenly felt cold. "You did the right thing, even when it was the harder option."

"The right thing," Albus had said almost bitterly, his usually wise smile hollow. "The right thing would have been confronting him years before. A better man would have stopped him earlier but I couldn't bring myself to face him because I -" Albus choked and Merlin stared because he had never seen him break down before, "because of what he meant to me and because I didn't want to deal with what he had become. I ignored it for so long. So many countless victims, purely because of my cowardice."

"You're one of the bravest men I know," Merlin had said fiercely, meaning it completely.

"Braver men would have stopped him at the very beginning," Albus had replied, shaking his head. "Better men wouldn't have agreed with his early ideas. Even after I knew all he had done, saw all the destruction he had wrought, even after Ariana..." Albus had let out a rattling breath as he stumbled over his sister's name, a name Merlin had barely heard Albus mention since her death all those years ago, "... I couldn't kill him. I could barely bring myself to hurt him." Albus turned to Merlin, his blue eyes shining brighter than usual. "You knew didn't you." It wasn't a question. "You knew about my feelings for him."

Merlin gave him a morose smile.

"The way you talked about him is the way I talk about Arthur," he said simply, as though it explained everything. Which, from Albus' expression, it appeared to.

"How do you do it?" Albus suddenly asked, his eyes still shining. "Wait for him? Don't you worry he'll never return?" 

"I can't think like that. The fact I have the hope that he'll return is sometimes the only thing that helps me get through the day."

Albus had stared at him, the sadness in his face softening as he placed a hand over Merlin's. The irony of Merlin’s hand looking younger than Dumbledore’s was not lost on him. It almost felt like some higher power was mocking him.

"I honestly think you're the bravest of us all, my friend,” said Albus. 

Merlin had felt a lump in his throat as Lancelot's face came swimming back to him. Hearing those words again over a thousand years after his friend had first uttered them didn't make them feel any more true. It just made him move his hand out of Albus' grasp. The other man politely retreated his own back to his lap.

"Grindelwald won't be the last, you know," Merlin had said, changing the subject as he turned to watch the Giant Squid's tentacles retreat back into the lake. "There will always be those who crave power."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Albus agreed wryly, his face serious but oddly determined as he looked at Merlin "But there will always be those who will fight against it, too. And you, my friend, are the perfect example of the latter."

Merlin didn't respond. He just watched the sun reflecting off the glittering water and silently wondered just how much longer he was expected to fight without having Arthur by his side.


	3. The Return of Gaius

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**1951**

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The first one to return had been Gaius. 

It had been dinnertime on yet another September 1st and as he did every year, Headmaster Dippet had risen to his ancient feet to explain the sorting ceremony. His brittle joints almost audibly creaked as he straightened up to speak, his words coming out in a monotone so agonisingly slow that Merlin wondered a) if the headmaster had nodded off halfway through it and b) if Merlin himself had aged another thousand years just listening to him.

Sighing almost melancholically as he shaped his mash potatoes into a crude volcano, Merlin had just lifted his wand to idly animate a starchy eruption -- with bits of potato flicking onto the table below like fluffy lava -- when Gaius' name suddenly rang out clearly across the Great Hall. 

Fork falling with a loud clatter, Merlin had almost given himself whiplash as he turned to see a small boy with shoulder-length brown hair moving curiously towards the Sorting Hat. 

_It has to be a coincidence_ , he told himself with mild hysteria, his chest beating so wildly he was pretty sure he was in the middle of having a heart palpitation. Surely ‘Gaius’ wasn’t that unusual a name, especially for the Wizarding community, which was barmy enough to think names like Mundungus and Porpentina were sensible things to name their children.

Head spinning, Merlin had clutched the edge of the table and repeatedly told himself not to get his hopes up, that this boy could simply be somebody else with the same name. Even with his magic singing within him, crashing and fizzling under his skin like waves in an electrical storm, Merlin tried to hold it together. He had been through so many lifetimes of loss, countless pain and suffering and so much unbelievable grief... he couldn’t bear to hope for something this wonderful just to lose it, like he had lost everything else in his unbearably long life.

However, when the boy named ‘Gaius’ was sorted into Ravenclaw a minute later and raised an eyebrow at this revelation, Merlin had almost burst into tears on the spot, causing Minerva McGonagall to stare at him like he was mad and a young and concerned Rubeus Hagrid, who thought he was choking, to smack him so hard on the back that he nearly went flying over the table.

But Merlin didn’t care. Hagrid could have thumped him hard enough to bounce off the enchanted ceiling and back and he still would have been ecstatic. 

Gaius had come back to him. _Gaius._ The closest thing he ever had to a father. The man who had always protected him, despite it putting his own life at risk. The man who had sacrificed himself countless times for Merlin, who had _loved_ him unconditionally and stayed with him until the day he died.

 _Promise me you’ll live, Merlin_ , Gaius had said on his deathbed, Camelot falling in ruins all around them, his hand feeble in Merlin’s own. His eyes had already begun fading from life. _Promise me you won’t give up on yourself._

Blinking back tears, Merlin stared at the Gaius currently sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Happily chewing on a chicken leg, he was young and healthy and looked like he didn't have a care in the world. It took all Merlin’s strength not to leap from his seat like a gymnast and tackle the boy in a cannonball of a hug.

“Are you alright there, Dragoon?” Amando Dibbet had inquired from his headmaster’s chair, looking mildly puzzled by whatever it was Merlin’s face had been doing at that moment. “You’re looking a little peaky.” 

Dumbledore, who sat in between them, raised a curious eyebrow at Merlin as well, as though he was trying to decipher the enigma code from every twitch of Merlin’s cheekbones. 

But Merlin didn’t respond to him.

He just turned back to Gaius, his magic glowing inside him so intensely he was amazed he wasn’t lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“Headmaster,” he finally replied when he found his voice, which was gruff and thick with emotion. “I can honestly say that I’ve never been better.”

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For those first few days, Merlin tried not to let Gaius out of his sight, irrationally fearful that if he stopped looking at him, Gaius would suddenly disappear in a puff of smoke. 

One might have deemed this behaviour paranoid but considering that Merlin had seen venomous basilisks in the pipes, homicidal acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest and worst of all, Peeves streaking transparent arse-first through the halls every April Fool’s Day, he wasn’t about to take any chances on Hogwarts not accidentally swallowing Gaius up in its madness.

So he watched him from afar as covertly as he could, trying not to trip over his own trick steps or get exposed by the portraits, who cheerfully called out to him and loudly asked why he was hiding behind suits of armour like a creep. 

Sir Cadogan in particular hollered after him in what he believed was a whisper, bellowing if he could help aid in whatever secret plan Merlin was undertaking. How that man hadn’t outed Merlin in all the years he’d been at Hogwarts frankly broke all laws of probability.

Gaius, luckily, had been none the wiser and went about his day blissfully carefree, never noticing the lanky shadow that was following him with a daft smile spread across its face.

Because this child, without a shadow of a doubt, was the man Merlin once knew.

When the boy didn't spend his time in the library, devouring every book he could get his hands on, he was concocting potions in the dungeon for fun or visiting the greenhouses. Many a time, he had gone to simply stare in fascination at the venomous tentaculars and had looked especially delighted when one of them had tried to take his head off. Young Gaius had even volunteered his services to the school nurse when he could, helping the old wizard create poultices and elixirs on his days off.

Gaius had also, unsurprisingly, established himself as Merlin's best student in his very first History of Magic lesson. His hand was always the first to hit the air, often before Merlin had even finished asking his question. Gaius’ essays were also in a league of their own, being such an authority on whatever subject he was talking about that he genuinely wondered if textbook author Bathilda Bagshot had somehow been copying off Gaius' notes. 

Like Merlin's own Gaius, the boy's knowledge on mythical creatures was encyclopaedic and it reminded Merlin fondly of all those times he had gone to Gaius for research on a magical beast of some sort. Listening to the young boy recite Merlin's own notes on manticores back to him was both surreal and amusing, not only because they had vanquished a manticore together back in Camelot but also because Merlin's notes on the subject had largely come from Gaius himself.

Despite the likenesses between the two Gaiuses, however, there were also many differences. Merlin never imagined his Gaius being interested in sports but young Gaius could always be seen sporting Ravenclaw supporter garb during his House matches, his flag flying proud as he sang rousing supporter songs with the rest of his house in solidarity. 

He was also a lot more mischievous than Merlin would ever have guessed. Gaius' poker face when he and his friends were caught at the scene of a potions explosion was so impressive he could have played in professional card tournaments. It reminded Merlin of all the lies his Gaius had had to tell on Merlin's account over the years and made him realise that Gaius was one of those people who had simply been born with the talent to deceive.

Watching him young and full of life was enough to make Merlin's chest expand with both love and pride. He had never seen this side of his mentor before and felt privileged to be given the chance to witness it. Gaius as a child was a lot like Gaius as an adult had been. He was studious, inquisitive, patient and still so uncommonly kind that Merlin was desperately happy to have him back in his life in any capacity, even if Merlin might end up silently watching him grow from a distance.

This didn't happen for long, however, because by their third lesson together, Gaius remembered everything.

It had happened the moment Gaius had handed Merlin his extensive essay on _A History of Hags_ (three parchments worth). One moment he had been wringing his hands together and asking for Merlin's advice on parchment length, the next their fingers accidentally brushed when Gaius passed over his assignment, making the young boy immediately start like a spooked animal.

"Gaius?" Merlin had said with concern as the boy paled, dread filling him like it always did when Gaius was hurt or in trouble. "Gaius, are you alright?"

But Gaius had already launched himself at Merlin like a missile, haphazardly throwing his arms around his waist and pressing his face into his ribs before he had even finished his sentence. For a frantic moment, Merlin wildly wondered if Gaius had lost it in a fit of madness -- or was trying to asphyxiate him using a very unorthodox method. The boy's next words, however, soon made Merlin glad he had someone holding him up because he was pretty sure he had permanently lost all feeling to his legs.

"Merlin! It's _you!_ " Gaius gasped, showing his age by talking quickly, breathlessly, like he could barely contain himself. He then let go, his eyes huge and hopeful as he looked up at Merlin. "It is really you, isn't it? Underneath that funny disguise? I'm not imagining things, am I?"

"G-Gaius?" Merlin choked out, completely thrown as his entire body shook with hope. "Gaius, do you really rememb-oof!" Merlin cried out because Gaius had launched himself at Merlin again, babbling into his ribs as he did. 

"Mum always said I was imagining you but I knew it was real!" Gaius said almost triumphantly, just like he had when he identified a spell in one of his books. "I kept telling her about the boy in my dreams, the one with the yellow eyes, but she never believed me. She didn't believe me about Camelot and Arthur either! But it's real, isn't it? All of it. I was there, wasn't I? And you!" Gaius then pointed at Merlin with delight. "You're my young charge."

"Well, I'm not as young as I used to be and you're certainly not as old." Merlin confessed breathlessly, his body shaking with adrenaline, hardly able to believe this was happening. 

Gaius raised an offended, mildly scandalised eyebrow at that. “Merlin!” he tutted in dismay.

The familiarity hit him so hard that Merlin suddenly let out a laugh of such pure, unadulterated delight that the noise sounded foreign to his own ears. He even paused to momentarily look around for the culprit before realising it was himself.

Gaius let out a laugh too, looking just as overwhelmed.

"This... this is unbelievable," Gaius said, looking at Merlin with such shining, awed eyes that Merlin nearly felt his knees buckle again. It had happened so frequently in the space of a few minutes that Merlin briefly wondered if arthritis was finally beginning to settle in. "I've read so many books, tried so hard to understand what these visions meant, if past lives could viably exist. I already went over the library about six times...” 

“Of course you did,” Merlin laughed, feeling so light he felt like someone had cast a levitation charm on him. He was sure his head was going to hit the ceiling at any moment. "How is it that even when you're younger than me, you're still the most mature person in the room?"

"I don't know, Merlin, maybe because I’m always in the room with you?" said the boy drolly and for a second Merlin saw his Gaius again, his wrinkled smile and old eyes twinkling with mirth. “Now, tell me what I missed.”

So Merlin attempted to. Distilling over ten centuries of life into an hour of conversation was practically impossible but Gaius somehow managed to be the perfect audience. As they sat together in Merlin’s empty classroom, Gaius listened with bated breath to the abridged history of Merlin’s life. He gasped at all the appropriate times, rebuked Merlin whenever he did something stupid (which was more often than not) and looked so scandalised by his absinthe-fuelled binge with Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and Oscar Wilde in 1894 that his eyebrow looked likely to walk off his face at any moment.

Merlin still remembered those two young men with a longing sadness. Henri had graduated from Beauxbatons while Oscar had been the top student at Hogwarts. They had formed a friendship purely by being the outsiders of society, which is why Merlin had liked them so much, kindred spirits who were such creative geniuses that his head spun just being in their presence (although the absinthe had helped with that, too).

When Henri had died of alcoholism and Oscar was vilified for a ‘disease’ that Merlin himself was afflicted with, it made him remember how truly unfair life really was. It made Merlin look back on his life, at all the wonderful people who had come and gone, some dying tragically young, some living to old age but, in the end, they had all left him, never to return. 

All except Gaius. 

If there was one thing Merlin knew, as he stared at the wonderful gift that was the boy beside him, it was that he would give his life a thousand times just to keep Gaius safe.

And then the First Wizarding War broke out and everything quickly went to hell.


	4. The Rise of Tom Riddle

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**1938-1979**

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Merlin had taught some of the most remarkable people in the world over his many years at Hogwarts. 

In the 1600s, there had been a skinny young lad called William Shakespeare in his Arithmancy class who was never on time, was awful at problem-solving and always had about five girls on the go but he wrote essays like an artist painted a masterpiece. 

Then there had been Charles Dickens a few hundred years later, a muggle-born revolutionary who almost got expelled when he tried desperately to rouse the house-elves to revolt, consequently causing him to write a Wizarding book all about his struggles (something Merlin was sure Hermione Granger had read years afterwards). 

A Slytherin boy called Isaac Newton had also shown up, his brain so exceptional that he made most of the Ravenclaws in his year look like remedial students in comparison. He was sadly also a vindictive type of boy and Merlin had caught him on more than one occasion sabotaging a young Robert Hooke’s cauldron just to be petty.

A couple of hundred years after him another person came along with just as much promise and ten times the apathy. This one was a girl called Ada Lovelace whose skill at Arithmancy and mathematics had almost melted Merlin’s brain to such a degree he had had to sit down for at least ten minutes after her classes.

Then there had been Darwin, a remarkably bright Hufflepuff in the 1800s, who had been so enamoured with his Care of Magical Creatures lessons that he taught at Hogwarts for a few years before writing a book that changed the world. The wizarding edition of _The Origin of Species_ in particular had been Merlin's favourite, which controversially highlighted that the mixing of muggle and magical blood was a natural progression of man. Merlin still remembered Charles as a little boy picking up leaves from the grounds in fascination, just as a precocious Newt Scamander did over a hundred years afterwards.

Amazing as all these students were, however, none of them had made more of an impact on the world than a young boy Merlin had taught called Tom Riddle.

If Merlin were completely honest with himself, he never would have guessed that the small, remarkably clever boy in his potions class would become, arguably, the most evil wizard in history.

There had been signs that something wasn't quite right, of course. 

Tom was popular but kept to himself, eloquent but strangely detached when you struck up a conversation with him and Merlin had heard from Dumbledore himself about the disturbing stories surrounding the boy at the orphanage where he had grown up. Then there had been his reaction to the Chamber of Secrets first opening, so curiously unmoved even when a student had died.

He also reminded Merlin so much of Mordred that Merlin had started when he had first seen him. It was the eyes, Merlin had come to realise years after the fact as he looked up at perpetually green skies, countless dark marks suspended in the air. Tom's eyes had looked dead inside, just as Mordred's had.

By the time it was Gaius' final year at school, the First Wizarding War had truly began. 

Entire families had begun to go missing and Death Eaters were brazenly killing everyone who stood in their way. The clever little boy who had once been one of Merlin's sharpest students had now taken the name Lord Voldemort and his campaign to take over the Ministry of Magic was brutal and bloody. With the help of his followers, muggle-borns had begun disappearing at an alarming rate and terror had gripped the entire magical community. Spies infiltrated the Ministry with the Imperius curse and caused such paranoia that people began to fear their own family members. It didn't help that there was also the occasional spouse who would falsely rat out their partners for their own personal reasons. One witch in Abergavenny had gone as far as to have her husband locked up in Azkaban for war crimes because he kept forgetting to put the bins out.

Merlin still remembered the day the war was finally confirmed over the wireless after decades of unrest. It had felt uncannily similar to the announcements of both the muggle world wars Merlin had fought in. Merlin had seen so much war but for some reason, this one had felt different, even from Grindelwald’s reign of terror.

Gaius had been pale at his side as they sat in Merlin's office and listened to the newscaster speaking tearfully, the cup of tea clutched in his hand now cold as he turned to Merlin with genuine fear.

"What are you going to do?" he had asked softly, as though Merlin alone could change the outcome of everything. 

Merlin briefly felt selfishness wrap around himself like a dark shroud because surely this catastrophe should have been what finally brought Arthur back to him. Seeing Gaius' pale, frightened face, however, Merlin's expression had softened. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep Gaius safe, whether it was to go up against Nimueh again to fight for his life or help lead a revolution to ensure his future.

"I'll help," Merlin had replied fiercely. "Dumbledore is forming a secret society to fight back against the Death Eaters. He's asked me to help him."

"I want to help, too," Gaius returned, lifting up his chin, as brave as any Gryffindor.

"No," Merlin had said, his tone unyielding. "You and your parents are going to a secret location and will stay hidden."

"Merlin," Gaius said, sounding stern and Merlin felt both chastised and momentarily amazed that, even at seventeen, Gaius still managed to scold him like a disappointed patriarch. "You'll need every able-bodied man to fight. You know my skills at healing could save many lives. Dumbledore would let me go."

"Well, I'm not Dumbledore," Merlin replied sharply back and it was true. Dumbledore was selfless and brave. Merlin was old and jaded and had lost too many people he loved. He couldn't lose Gaius again.

So, under the pretence of Dragoon, he had joined the Order of the Phoenix, determined to stop any more bloodshed if he could. A small, dark voice in the back of his mind questioned whether to leave the situation to worsen so Arthur could finally return but this decision was made for him when he looked around at the order.

From The Prewett twins, who used to squabble over inkwells at the back of his class to round-faced Alice Longbottom, who had unofficially become his favourite student of her year when she accidentally set Merlin's drapes on fire, Merlin couldn't watch them fight it alone. And it wasn’t just them. Benjy Fenwick, Marlene McKinnon… they were his students, too. He had watched them all grow from children into adults. Some had ultimately turned out better than others but he still felt a sense of fatherly pride when he looked down at their faces.

James and Lily Potter in particular filled him with fondness, especially since he had watched their romance blossom before his eyes, from bickering children to a married couple and, in a few short months, new parents.

James as a teenager had reminded Merlin of Arthur; popular but pompous and self entitled to the point of ridiculousness. Even his close-knit friendships with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew had reminded Merlin of Arthur's relationships with his knights. And then there was Lily, who was so much like Gwen with her kindness and her fierce devotion to those she loved.

Merlin remembered just how much of a terror James had been back in the day but he had grown up fast, just as Arthur had. War tended to rob the youth of their childhood, just as it had robbed both Arthur and Merlin back in Camelot.

As the war raged, the Order had suffered greatly. The Bones family was almost completely obliterated and both Benjy and Marlene had been brutally killed. Merlin had honestly been unsure how much longer they could hold out against Voldemort’s forces.

And then in 1980, Merlin and Dumbledore had sat in on a job interview with a seemingly fraudulent young witch called Sybil Trelawney and the rest was history.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

Her raspy words had finally given them a light at the end of the tunnel. Merlin had remembered looking at Dumbledore with so much relief because they finally had some good news after all the death and destruction. 

But even with this prophecy, the rate of disappearances didn’t abate. In fact, it was during those following months in particular that Merlin had often found unwelcome intruders in his home.

And he wasn’t remotely surprised.

Death Eater home invasions had been on the rise and Merlin was one of the few people in the world who didn't put up stringent disillusionment spells on his property. Gaius had nagged him about it constantly, calling him reckless and scolding him for inviting trouble but this only made Merlin remind him that a) he was immortal and b) if a Death Eater was stupid enough to break into his house, they wouldn't get past the hat stand that strangled trespassers or the doormat that quite literally swallowed unwanted visitors whole with a loud gulp.

Twelve Death Eaters had already unsuccessfully tried and failed to break into his little cottage, after all. One had managed to get as far as Merlin's living room before the rug had swept up from under him and rolled him into the human equivalent of a sausage roll. Merlin had left the guy there for an hour afterwards while he had his tea and watched the Eastenders Omnibus (honestly, the death rate in Albert Square was ridiculous. It was a wonder anyone lived there) before obliviating him like he had the others and sending him off on a new life of peace, selflessness and enlightenment. Yaxley in particular had taken to the conditioning well and the last Merlin had heard, the former Death Eater had settled down in the country to become a vet.

It was becoming a bit of a routine so when Merlin opened the door that Sunday evening, expecting to find a Death Eater stuck to the ceiling or hanging upside down off his light fixtures, he was surprised to find no captives stuck in his furniture.

He was even more surprised to find Tom Riddle himself sitting at his kitchen table, looking strangely domestic as he stroked Merlin’s owl Archimedes with his long, pale fingers.

"Professor," he said cordially, his complexion deathly pale as he inclined his head. "Or should I say Merlin?"

Merlin froze briefly at his words before regaining his composure and shucking out of his robes. Eyes on Tom, he handed both his cloak and his tattered hat to his hatstand, which shivered with fear as it quickly grabbed at the items with its handles and clutched them to it like a protective mother shielding her babies from trouble. In fact, everything in the flat was cowering with terror, from the windows that had automatically shut their blinds so they couldn't watch to the lamps, half of which had already blown their bulb filaments from the stress. Even the kitchen appliances were nervous as Merlin noticed half his coffee mugs and his toaster had actually hopped their way into the microwave as though it was a bomb shelter. The items on the table Tom was sitting at, however, were definitely the most terrified. The napkins had all folded in on themselves and even the table cloth had slinked away from Tom so it was only covering the half of the table he wasn't on. Only Merlin's sugar bowl seemed to stand tall and proud in the middle of table, glaring up at Tom as it held its spoon aloft like a rifleman ready to attack. It was enough to perturb Merlin greatly. He had never seen his things react this way. They had faced hundreds of foes in their time -- monsters, Death Eaters, horny manticores and a drunk troll that chewed on everything he had and had left puddles of drool in all his shoes - but his items had never behaved like this.

It was as though they could sense the sheer wrongness of the magic inside of Tom. Merlin could feel it, after all. It was a monstrous abomination, like a writhing Frankenstein beast crudely stitched together with hundreds of different body parts. Merlin could see how Tom's magic had been corrupted, the once pure gold glow oozing like a festering wound, raw and infected. It was an aberration and made Merlin's own magic want to recoil in horror. Magic was life and at the moment Tom was, quite literally, the walking dead. 

He must have done something unspeakable for his magic to mutate so violently. 

"What did you do, Tom?" Merlin hissed, unable to keep how appalled he was from his vice. 

"Improve," Tom said simply, still stroking Archimedes, who looked like he was going to accidentally regurgitate his lunch all over their unwelcome guest. Merlin was almost tempted to let him but it was cruel to subject the owl to any more of this. Birds were particularly attuned to magic and being in close proximity to Tom's was no doubt causing him physical pain. Raising his arm, Merlin coolly said,

"Archimedes, come," and almost toppled backwards when the bird rushed at Merlin's arm with the speed of a tiny, feathered freight train, his relief overwhelming and his talons digging into his flesh so desperately Merlin that wasn't sure if he could ever get him off again.

"Archimedes," Tom said softly, rolling the word out with his snake-like tongue. "The bird legends always spoke of you having."

Merlin felt his jaw tighten.

"I don't know why you insist on thinking I'm Merlin-" he denied purely on instinct but Tom chuckled a soft, ghastly sort of laugh that not only stopped Merlin's protestations but made the salt and pepper mills sitting on the counter top rattle against each other with fear.

"I do not know why you conceal who you truly are," said Tom simply, raising his head and Merlin immediately noticed how much his good looks had faded. The once handsome boy now looked like a corpse. His nose had thinned and flattened out and his complexion was lifeless but it was his eyes that had undergone the biggest change of all as they gleamed back at Merlin with a bright red sheen. He looked inhuman. "All these years," Tom hissed softly, a strange sort of nostalgia in his voice as his lips looked blood red against his pale skin. "Almost a decade at that school and I barely gave you a second thought. You taught me for years at Hogwarts, playing the old bumbling fool to perfection and I never once suspected you for a moment. I watched Dumbledore with a ready eye but you were always my biggest threat, weren't you?" When Merlin didn't respond, Tom smiled, his sharp teeth flashing momentarily. "I must confess, Merlin, your disguises have been impressive."

Merlin could have denied it some more but he had had lifetimes of lying. Instead, he let the glamour fall off his features like a golden robe slithering off his skin, Dragoon’s aged features pooling in a magical puddle at his feet. 

Merlin then lifted a now-youthful hand to stroke the spooked Archimedes, who had actually broken his skin with his grip, and calmly said,

"Have you come to kill me, Tom?"

Tom laughed again. It was enough to make Merlin's blood run cold.

"We both know I cannot, just as we know you cannot kill me. So," here Tom raised a hand, his once dark eyes red and dancing with what looked like amusement, "we are at an impasse of sorts."

"I could incapacitate you," Merlin put forth, putting down his satchel as he took the seat opposite Tom. The cowering items on the table immediately scurried over to him with the exception of his stupidly brave sugar bowl, which stood proud and petulant as it brandished a spoon at Tom like a cantankerous old man would his cane. "I'm powerful enough."

"You are," Tom conceded fairly. "but even your magic cannot hold me for long."

Merlin tried not to react to this but he knew Tom was right. Tom's powers weren't even magic anymore. Magic was something Merlin could control, could combat, but this toxic darkness Tom had constructed... Merlin didn't know how to start unravelling it. It was like a cancer that couldn't be eradicated or cured.

This thought must have shown on his face because Tom looked remarkably pleased.

"Do you know what the Order's biggest weakness is, Merlin?" Tom suddenly asked, his voice silky as his abrupt subject change genuinely threw Merlin off. "They care. They care far too much. They form attachments and attachments make one weak. Take you, for example," and here Tom's thin mouth curled into a reptilian smile. "You care for Dumbledore. You care for your students. You even care for that blithering idiot of a half-giant. And as for that boy... Gaius, is it?" and here Merlin felt his heart stop cold. "I suspect there is very little you wouldn't do for him."

"What do you want from me?" Merlin said coldly.

"In an ideal world? I'd want you to join me. With you at my side, there isn't a foe in the world we could not fell together. Unfortunately, the Imperius curse doesn't appear to work on you and I am not foolish enough to assume that you would turn your back on your companions for power and magic."

"I _am_ magic," said Merlin, feeling his body thrum with power as sparks of magic crackled across his skin like lightning.

It was enough to make Tom look at him almost hungrily.

"The things we could have achieved together," he murmured almost to himself, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Pity." He then got to his feet, his robes billowing with the movement like they were suspended in slow motion.

"That was it? A courtesy call?" Merlin asked with disbelief.

"Oh, I am sure our paths will cross again, Emrys," said Tom which made Merlin blink because no one had said his name like that for years - as though it was a title. Tom then lowered his head in a parody of a respectful bow, his smile cruel and amused. "Please relay my best wishes to Gaius." 

Merlin was up on his feet before he could even stop himself, his magic thrumming so angrily at the mention of Gaius that it made the very foundations of the house vibrate. It was like an earthquake, the way the ground shook below their feet and Tom's eyes widened as items began to tremble and fall off their shelves. Cracks began to form and chase their way up the walls like spiderwebs as Tom instinctively took a step backwards. Merlin, who got a grim feeling of satisfaction from his fear, stepped forward. 

"I have lived over a thousand years, Tom," Merlin said softly, his hushed voice like a spell itself as it carried over the noise of glasses smashing to the ground. "I have seen empires rise and fall, have heard hundreds of prophecies and believe me, if a prophecy predicts your downfall, _down you will fall_."

Even with his age and his power, Merlin still felt some childish thrill, a sense of gratification, at how Tom had momentarily dropped his gaze from Merlin’s own, as though his stare was too intense to bear. Merlin had a feeling it might have been; he had been told his eyes shone like rays of sunlight when his magic swirled like this.

When Tom finally backed out through the door, he lifted his eyes up to Merlin’s again one final time, through sheer determination and spite.

“Goodbye, Merlin. I’m sure we’ll meet again.” he hissed with venom before exiting through the door in a swirl of smoke and black robes. When he was gone, the wild magic coursing through Merlin immediately abated. It was like an expanding balloon, on the cusp of exploding, suddenly deflating in one go. Merlin let out a shaky exhale, feeling lightheaded and breathless after the encounter. 

If nothing else, this encounter proved there was nothing Tom wouldn’t do to gain power.

Luckily for them, destiny had decided to throw a young wizard called Harry Potter into the mix.


	5. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger

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**1980-1998**

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After Dumbledore and Tom, Merlin had never expected anyone else to guess who he really was. Both men had been prodigies after all and, arguably, two of the greatest minds to ever grace the earth. Sure, Tom was a homicidal megalomaniac and Albus had a slight obsession with polka-dot socks, but they had two of the most deductive brains Merlin had ever seen - and that was saying something considering that Merlin had known some of the greatest sleuths that had ever lived.

In 1885, a struggling muggle author called Arthur Conan Doyle had somehow deduced Merlin had magic purely by looking at the way he held his quill. The man had been so convinced, despite Merlin’s protestations, that he later became a spiritualist, preaching to anyone who would listen about the supernatural, demon dogs and the existence of fairies. The fact he had been right had caused a bit of an uproar at the DMLE, with the poor man having to be obliviated every few days because he kept figuring it out again. He ended up having to have a dedicated case worker because of it, a wizard who just so happened to be a long-suffering ex-doctor with a thin moustache and a few war injuries.

A few decades later, Merlin had almost been outed again when he had met a brilliant witch called Agatha Christie. She had rather brazenly asked about the wand in his pocket (which he would only later realise was a come on) and took him on a mysterious adventure that he couldn’t for the life of him recall. Even now, Merlin didn’t quite know what they had done for those eleven days together but he knew if he had spent any longer with her, she would have sniffed his identity out like a bloodhound.

Luckily for Merlin, in all those years on the planet, no one else had guessed who he really was.

If Merlin had put bets on who would be next, however, the combined forces of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger would have made the top of his list.

Harry, naturally, had been the first of the three that Merlin had been acquainted with because Merlin had met him as a baby.

Even before he became famous for thwarting Voldemort, Merlin had been introduced to Harry a week after Lily Potter had given birth to him. She had brought him to the order's hideout; a pink and wrinkled-looking thing with a messy tuft of jet black hair and piercing green eyes. He didn't do much save for sleep and look marginally confused by the world around him but James Potter couldn't have looked prouder.

After that, Merlin had seen Harry a handful of times -- almost pensive-looking for a baby so young -- but it was the sixth time that Merlin remembered in particular because it was the last time he had seen James and Lily alive again. They had been packing up to go into hiding, Lily trying to soothe a fussy Harry by conjuring bubbles from her wand as a young Sirius Black helped them with their trunks. 

Sirius, who had been brash and charismatic and perfect-haired in a way that made Merlin pine horribly for Gwaine, had looked at his best friend with a fierce protectiveness that Merlin recognised as the expression he himself always wore around Arthur. Later, when Sirius had been accused of being a traitor, Merlin had been the first person to jump to his defence because no one could look at anyone with that much love and betray them.

Merlin had been with Albus the fateful night James and Lily had died and had later helped him deliver the newly orphaned boy to his muggle relatives. He had patted Hagrid on an arm the size of a motorcycle as the half-giant howled inconsolably into a hankie. Merlin had looked down at this young baby who had lost everything, a harsh lightning scar on his forehead and a soft whimper escaping his sleeping mouth and had decided there and then that he would do everything in his power to look out for this boy.

Unfortunately, he didn't see Harry again until he entered the Great Hall ten years later to be sorted.

Merlin had been sitting to the right of Dumbledore that day and had shared a significant look with the headmaster when they first caught a glimpse of the then eleven-year-old Harry Potter. Merlin had drawn in a sharp breath when he took in his appearance.

"Circe, he looks like James," he had murmured.

"Not the eyes though," Dumbledore had said softly and Merlin saw Snape stiffen on the other side of the table.

After Harry, Ron Weasley had stepped forward to get sorted and no one was more interested to see where he would end up than Merlin.

Ron was the only member of the three that Merlin had really known before he had taught him at Hogwarts and he couldn’t help his favouritism for him.

It had begun with Merlin's acquaintance with his father Arthur, who had started Hogwarts the year Merlin -- then Dragoon -- had championed the introduction of a new subject called Muggle Studies into the curriculum. Before Merlin could say rubber duck, Arthur Weasley had become his most enthusiastic pupil and, in later years, a genuine friend. 

It felt strange, having another Arthur in his life, and one who was so different in so many ways. Where Arthur Weasley was modest and self-sufficient, Arthur Pendragon had been a showboat who could barely put on his own trousers without doing himself a mortal injury. Both men, however, were similar in one important way - they were both genuinely good men. 

It was because of this friendship that Merlin had been invited to the Burrow for Arthur Weasley’s first excited foray into muggle cooking. According to Arthur, it was a primitive concept known as 'BBQing’ and consisted of setting meat on fire while wearing a Hawaiian shirt and flip flops.

Arthur had been happily slurping a ‘muggle delicacy’ called Budweiser through a straw and poking with his wand at the blackened lumps of charcoal that had once been steaks when Ron had whizzed by.

Ron, who had just turned four, was almost ridiculously sweet at that age. Pudgy-cheeked, his freckled face was smeared with dirt and his tiny frame was swamped in a baggy shirt that looked like it had belonged to one of his siblings. 

For most of the barbecue, he had been a little blur of red as he tried to keep up with his twin brothers' antics in the garden. His little legs had often struggled to keep up as Fred and George sprinted off without him, so much so that he eventually tripped over a sunbathing garden gnome who was also enjoying the rare British summer. His knees scraped raw and bloody, Ron had burst into tears, even as the gnome had waved a tiny angry fist in the air in fury, demanding justice.

Merlin was at Ron’s side and dusting him off before he had even realised he had moved.

" 'hurts," Ron had said through a sniff, his cheeks pink and tear-streaked. 

"You fell over, of course it hurts," Merlin heard himself say in Dragoon's gruff voice although he was speaking in a softer tone than he usually did. "Now up we go, there's a good lad. Let's patch these up for you."

"Are you gunna do a spell?" Ron had hiccoughed, eyes wide and so excited that he momentarily seemed to completely forget about his knees. "Fred and George can do spells. They turned Mr Snuggles into a spider." Ron then shuddered, as though the pain of the memory was still too fresh.

Merlin had remembered snorting at this, giving Ron -- and by extension, Mr Snuggles -- his condolences and then literally blinking Ron's wounds away.

The little boy had looked awed.

"But you didn't say nuthin'," he had said, his brow furrowed. "Or move your hands like this." Ron then flailed his arms about in what Merlin assumed was supposed to be a wand wave but looked more like an intoxicated windmill.

Merlin hadn't explained. He had just smiled and suggested they look for the ice cream Molly's friend Florian Fortescue had brought over, successfully distracting the small boy and eventually causing him to throw up rainbow coloured sick when he mixed far too many magical flavours together.

And that was only the first time he had met Ron. 

Over the course of the seven years before the boy had gone to Hogwarts, Merlin had seen Ron every so often. Whether he was out shopping with his mother in Diagon Alley -- looking bored out of his mind -- or at a mutual acquaintances party, Ron was always good value.

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, had come to Merlin’s attention in her very first class when a frizzy, fluffy mound of hair seemed to stick its hand up before Merlin had even finished writing his name on the blackboard.

The hair turned out to be the brightest witch of her generation, which Merlin soon came to realise when after she asked a theoretical question so advanced that he had proceeded to gape at her for ten seconds before changing the topic to something he understood before his brain imploded.

She had been a tiny thing back then, confident in her responses with large front teeth and a know-it-all attitude. She also had a propensity for enthusiastically throwing her hand up to _everything_ that Merlin worried she would be the first student to dislocate her shoulder from sheer scholastic zeal.

He had liked her instantly. 

By the close of her first day of lessons, the professors were already talking about the clever girl with the encyclopaedic knowledge who had such passion for her school work that she had actually gone seeking homework from Filius Flitwick and had almost burst into tears when he told her to just enjoy her evening.

She was also so highly perceptive and shrewd that it made Merlin a little nervous. She would occasionally give Merlin such long, searching looks that it made him want to confess to all the things he had been wrongly accused of over the years, such as a poisoning attempt on Napoleon Bonaparte (he had simply undercooked his chicken) and masterminding the Great Train Robbery of 1963 (which had taught him to never fall asleep on a train again).

In Hermione’s years at Hogwarts, his fondness for her only grew and before Merlin even realised it, she, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley became as tight a unit as Merlin had ever witnessed.

The three friends seemed to balance each other out almost perfectly. Hermione was intelligent and firm, Harry was grounded and kind and Ron was funny and so fiercely loyal that Merlin knew the strength of his bravery was the only reason he wasn't sorted into Hufflepuff.

Their friendship was the stuff legends seemed to be made out of - something Merlin would know because he had seen a fair few of both in his time. From that incident with the philosopher's stone to Harry's unexpected participation in the Triwizard Tournament, something seemed to happen to the trio every year without fail and they always overcame it together.

They really were a force to be reckoned with and Merlin soon realised that there was next to nothing they couldn’t accomplish together through sheer force of will.

The battle of Hogwarts in 1998 had proved his more than anything.

When they triumphed over Voldemort that final time, Merlin had remembered looking over at the three friends. They were bruised, bleeding, dirty, grieving and _relieved_ \- holding each other’s hands on the ruined bridge and looking towards a future that looked both bright and uncertain. It reminded him of the night he became a dragon lord, the triumph he had felt even with so many dead around him and the weight of Balinor’s body still pressing deep into his bones. But he had had Arthur that time. Oblivious, blockheaded, stupendously brave Arthur, who was always asleep when the villain was defeated but somehow always got the credit. Merlin had probably given the prat lasting brain damage with the amount of times he had knocked him out. 

It made Merlin stare almost longingly at Harry Potter -- his prophecy fulfilled -- a surging sort of hope in Merlin’s chest instead of his customary melancholy. 

Because, by the time Harry had finally defeated Voldemort in 1998, the newly reincarnated Prince Arthur Pendragon was already 4 years old.

And Sybil Trelawney’s next big prophecy had been all about him.


	6. Sybil Trelawney's Prophecy

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**1993**

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At first, Merlin had thought Sybil was drunk. In his defence, Sybil _always_ appeared to be plastered, even on a sober day, with her huge magnified eyes and the fact she often stumbled around slurring predications like a prophecy that had been dropped in a vat of firewhiskey.

It also didn’t help that everyone had been a little sloshed that Christmas after the kids had gone to bed. 

Hagrid had reached past the point of merriment and was openly sobbing about the entire situation with Buckbeak as a tiny, hiccoughing Professor Flitwick patted his elbow in consolation (which, consequently, was the only part of him he could reach). Pomona Sprout and Madam Pomfrey had been partaking in a drinking game that had ended with Argus Filch snoozing under the table wearing a crown of tinsel while Mrs Filch meowed indignantly from the top of the Christmas tree with no one quite knowing exactly how she had got up there. Even Professor McGonagall had got into the spirit of things. She had been pink-faced and her hair was escaping her bun as she uncharacteristically giggled at a joke Dumbledore was reading from a cracker. 

Only Severus Snape had looked blank-faced and unmoved as he stiffly sipped a glass of port and glared at Merlin sourly every time Merlin tried to coax him into pulling a cracker with him. 

After the third cracker snub, Merlin appealed to anyone who wasn't Hagrid (because he wasn't spending yet another Christmas in the hospital wing with a cracker-related dislocated shoulder) and found Sybil Trelawney staring at him with wide, vacant eyes. He offered her one end of the cracker cheerfully. She dropped her fork and suddenly let in a great wheeze, as though she had run a great distance.

" _He will return,_ " she said, in a throaty, inhuman sort of voice that made Merlin, who had been grinning, lower the cracker, suddenly feeling cold. It was happening again. It was the same tone of voice that had prophesied Harry Potter's birth. " _The Once and Future King will return and will be the only one who can stop the darkness.”_

Sybil's shaky syllables permeated into Merlin's brain as though she had literally written on it with a quill. Swallowing hard, Merlin could feel his hands shaking and his heart pounding so hard he felt like he was going into cardiac arrest.

"Ar-Arthur?" he practically whimpered, hope searing through him as Sybil's glassy eyes stared blandly back. He grabbed her hand tightly, his knuckles white, grounding himself. She didn’t react. "But Harry... Harry Potter was the one prophesied to stop Voldemort. The one who did stop Voldemort."

" _Another Dark Majesty shall rise,_ " Sybil responded in that same hauntingly croaky voice, making all the happiness that had been building up inside Merlin turn to lead. " _They will ascend and bring more pain and suffering than the world has ever seen. They will bring on the end of all times. Magic will leech from the land. Only the Once and Future King can bring back the light. Only the Once and Future King can unite with Magic Himself to prevent total annihilation.”_

“Annihilation?” Merlin repeated, dread falling down all around him. He had heard of many prophecies over the years and had even been in the room when many had first been uttered. There had been life-changing prophecies, such as when Lochru had foretold Arthur’s bane or when Sybil had seen Voldemort’s fall. There had also been almost benign prophecies, such as the time a witch in Whitstable had foreseen her husband’s terrible haircut and decided not to tell him when she also saw he would soon leave her for his secretary.

But no prophecy had ever sounded this dire. Nothing had ever sounded as though the entire planet would be destroyed - that _magic_ itself would be depleted. It seemed impossible to Merlin. Even Tom Riddle, with his infinite powers to distort and corrupt magic, couldn’t eradicate it. 

It simply was. Magic was in everything, from every grain of sand to the wind blowing through the trees. Magic was nature itself. Even muggles couldn’t sustain the loss of it. Everything would crumble without it. The thought made Merlin sick, every cell in his body repelled at the thought. He _was_ magic. Magic leaving the land might be the only thing that could actually kill him. 

Surely no-one could have the power to destroy something so fundamental.

 _Another shall rise,_ Sybil’s words repeated back to Merlin, like a looping gramophone in his mind.

 _Morgana,_ Merlin thought immediately. It had to be. Who else was so intertwined in Arthur’s destiny? Who else was so dangerous?

“Please, you need to tell me more,” Merlin said, feeling a little desperate, his throat dry as his hands tightened desperately around her own. “When will this happen? When exactly will Arthur return?”

But Merlin could see he had already lost Sybil, she was blinking back into consciousness, her huge eyes losing the unfocused sheen that had taken hold of them.

She was back. And she was looking down at their joined hands, her face looking confused but oddly pleased.

Smiling largely, her eyes were so wide behind her magnified spectacles that her blinkers gave Archimedes a run for his Galleons.

“Oh Barnaby,” she said delightfully, clutching Merlin’s hand tighter than a clingy lethifold that was starved for love. Merlin winced, sure one of her jangling bangles had sliced his hand open in her veracity. “I knew you cared.” 

She then proceeded to tell him how she had foreseen their great love story in the dregs of her camomile tea.

Mind racing, Merlin was too distracted to tactfully try to let her down, even as he was vaguely aware of the loving hand she was stroking through his hair.

His mind was only focusing on one thing.

Arthur.

Arthur was returning. But Arthur was returning for what sounded like the end of all times.

Merlin had waited so long, had counted down so many days for Arthur to come back to him but was his return just signifying the end of the world? Was Arthur a saviour or just an albatross?

A joint surge of hope and dread pulsed through Merlin, like if a cheering charm and the Cruciatus curse had a baby and decided to lob it spitefully at Merlin’s head.

Something wonderful was coming. But it might be the end of them all.


	7. The Birth of Arthur Pendragon

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**1991-1994**

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Uther Pendragon became King in the year 1991.

Merlin still remembered the news of King Odin's unexpected death playing on all the news channels, both muggle and Wizarding, and heard about the obscure young relative who had ascended to the throne almost by sheer dumb luck. 

The moment he saw the face of the new King, Merlin almost fell over.

It was Uther but he looked younger, more carefree, with a scarless face and a warmth in his eyes that Merlin had only seen once in all his years at Camelot, and that was when Uther was violently in love with a flatulent troll with a dung addiction. 

Regrettably, the lighter demeanour didn't stop Uther from continuing to be a total and utter pillock because somehow, this time around, the man had turned out to be a pureblood elitist who looked down on mugglekind.

The irony of this was not lost on Merlin, who wondered if Uther had some sort of cosmic pre-existing condition that made him a bigoted prick in every incarnation. It was as though the very fabric of space and time was taking the piss, turning Uther's ideology on its head just to elbow Merlin in the ribs and snigger at the inside joke.

Merlin, who had just glared at a twinkling star above him as though it was personally mocking him, pouted, really not very amused. Fate was bloody awful at gags. 

This was proven again when Uther became a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, which only made Merlin groan because surely a King would have better things to do with his time. It also meant Merlin had to see the man far more than he ever wanted to. Half the time Merlin lived in fear he was going to have him burnt at the stake at any given moment, which Uther had obviously picked up on because he soon wrote Merlin off as a nervous, blundering buffoon. He even went as far as to question Dumbledore whether Merlin was really the type of person they wanted to have a lasting effect on children. It was almost a comfort how little Uther thought of him. It was almost enough to make him homesick.

The biggest comfort for Merlin, however, was when Uther met a beautiful young woman called Igraine, who had a hauntingly familiar bone structure and a sweet disposition that the papers fell so totally in love with that their articles were practically love letters in disguise (something Merlin was sure of when a column about Igraine's newest hat almost drowned him in a shower of heart confetti).

Igraine was kind where Uther was coarse, gentle where Uther was stern and was so photogenic that Merlin was convinced every camera was harbouring an all-consuming unrequited crush on her. 

Within a year, she was expecting. 

The moment Merlin had first heard the news of Arthur's conception, he had quite literally burst into tears. It wasn't exactly his finest hour because he had been in the middle of Hogsmeade when the wireless announcement was made in the street but no amount of magic could have stopped him at that moment. One minute he had been looking for rock cake mixture for Hagrid that didn't taste like ground gravel, the next he had ended up sobbing on the shoulder of a bemused but kindly old wizard who patted him on the shoulder and said "there, there, everyone gets allergies sometimes. Everything with be alright," repeatedly with no idea what was going on.

"Yes," Merlin had laughed, his voice choked with emotion before he grabbed the old man by the shoulders and made him squeak when he spun him around with delight, making his pointed hat fall askew. "I finally think it will be."

By the time Merlin had raced back to Hogwarts to tell Gaius, the entire school was already talking about it.

Parvati and Lavender were lamenting that the prince or princess would be too young for either of them to befriend or marry while the Slytherins were insisting that the new royal would obviously be placed in their house because Uther himself was a Slytherin through and through.

Even the teachers were nattering about it as he passed the head table. Hagrid was booming about the news with a happy tear in his eye (unsurprising because Hagrid had that reaction to most things, from homicidal acromantulas and angry wyverns to, one time, a manticore in middle of trying to eat Merlin) while Professor McGonagall patted his hand and looked a little softened herself. It made Merlin's chest tighten. 

Arthur really was returning.

"Did you hear?" Merlin asked breathlessly when he finally reached Gaius' rooms, almost tripping over his feet in his haste. When Gaius wordlessly rushed forward to envelope him into a hug, Merlin clung to him like his life depended on it, burying his face in the familiar scent of his robes. Gaius, who had made his life so much more bearable since he returned, who he loved with every fibre of his being. Gaius, who was everything to him but still couldn't fill the void Arthur had left. 

"It really is him, isn't it, Gaius?" Merlin whispered into his shoulder, voice tentative but desperate with hope. "The baby? It's not just wishful thinking?"

Because Merlin had had a hundred lifetimes of that. He would scry every morning into his mirror without fail, looking at the faces of every child that was born that day, his heart sinking every time he realised none of those little wrinkled faces were Arthur's. He didn't want to be wrong again. He honestly didn't think he could take it.

"What does your heart tell you, Merlin? You’re joined by destiny, after all. Do you think it's Arthur?" Gaius asked softly, pulling back to look him in the eye. Gaius' gaze was steady and strong and Merlin suddenly saw the physician he used to be in Camelot, could almost smell the poultices he used to brew in the rooms they shared. It gave Merlin the confidence to let out a watery-eyed smile. 

He didn't reply but Gaius' smile told him he honestly didn't need to.

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Coverage of Queen Igraine's pregnancy was the most publicised royal birth Merlin had ever seen and Merlin had seen a hell of a lot of them over the years. The announcement of William VIII's was followed by a non-stop party in the streets where a lot of people, ironically, lost their heads on ale while King James I had had such a celebration after the birth of his son that Merlin had lost three whole days and his trousers in an accidental opium-fueled binge that he still couldn't recall to this day. 

The news of Arthur's birth, however, was a global phenomenon. 

Every seer on the planet had stepped forward and practically declared this baby the second coming, from the garden-variety psychics who read palms at carnivals to the most respected mediums in their field. It was as though they had all suddenly had the programs in their heads interrupted for an emergency announcement because by tea-time in Hogwarts, everyone was declaring the baby to be the messiah. From Australia and Fiji to Algeria and Zambia, seers had come out in droves to insist that the royal baby would have a great destiny that would forever change the world.

This being the case, everyone on the planet seemed to be invested in the arrival of the new baby. Merlin had watched both muggle and Wizarding coverage in awe, from The Daily Prophet's 'Baby-watch' -- which basically consisted of vapid reporter Rita Skeeter hiding behind bushes in conspicuous leopard print and trying to scare the queen into labour -- to almost cult-like parties where people would pay homage to a statue crudely modeled on Igraine's 'mighty uterus'. Merlin, who had somehow ended up on the 'Sacred Ovaries' owling list, still hadn't quite recovered from catching a glimpse of the first newsletter.

It was all a little overwhelming.

Whenever Merlin had considered Arthur's return (and he had considered it at least four times a day), he had always assumed that he would be the only one to know about the greatness of Arthur's destiny. 

The frenzy surrounding Arthur's birth, however, not only threw the secrecy idea completely out the window but lobbed it straight into the next stratosphere. 

Arthur was, quite simply, a spectacle and he wasn’t even born yet.

He had even begun to surpass the furore that a one-year-old Harry Potter had become accustomed to, something which Harry himself had declared made him feel sorry for the little tyke because instant celebrity really wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Merlin, who had always been grateful that he had kept his own identity a secret, had worried about this. Arthur's celebrity was already unparalleled and he was technically still a fetus with no name. It made Merlin shake his head with a wry smile because of course Arthur would come back to the world with an explosion of spectacle and adoration. It was like the universe knew he expected nothing less than being worshipped by his people. 

Even with Voldemort and his followers on the rise, people talked in excitably hushed voices about the new prince or princess, some going as far as to predict that the baby would be the one to stop Voldemort as Harry Potter had done years before.

Occasionally, a small, petty part of Merlin got a little irked that he had to share Arthur's arrival with everyone and their grandma (something old Professor Elkins proved when she pulled out a China set with a picture of a pregnant Igraine holding her bump painted on it). However, when he thought about the tiny bit of hope it gave to a country in unrest, he stopped feeling so entitled. It was only right Arthur was loved by the masses. He deserved nothing less.

If anyone was suffering from all this, Merlin imagined it was Queen Igraine. Her good looks and sweet nature had already made her the nation's darling when she had married Uther but she had now reached such a level of fame that she made the Beatles seem like a pub tribute band (ironically, Merlin had actually first met John Lennon in a pub in Merseyside and had been drunkenly serenaded by him but that was neither here nor there).

Rita Skeeter and her cohorts were relentless, following the queen around relentlessly for a shot of her bump and barraging the king with so many questions that a wild-eyed Uther had been photographed waving his wand around like a lunatic and threatening to have every journalist on his lawn beheaded.

It was a chaotic frenzy and everyone was eagerly counting down the hours of Igraine's due date like it was New Years Day.

But despite all the scrutiny, Merlin was the only person outside of the hospital who knew the moment Arthur was born. 

Merlin had been in the middle of Duelling Club, cheerfully trying to encourage a despondent Neville Longbottom after the boy's disarming spell resulted in Neville disarming himself and three other students, when he just _knew_. Merlin had been smiling kindly at Neville and had just reached over to correct his wand stance when something suddenly bloomed inside that empty space that had sat inside of his chest for as long as he could remember. It was scalding hot and almost knocked Merlin off his feet from the sheer strength of it, like the impact of a fireball straight to the chest. Groping for a nearby desk, Merlin felt his legs give out from under him and his head spin wildly out of control and, somewhere, peculiarly, he was sure he could hear the Kilgharrah's soft chuckle, as smug and knowing as it always was. A minute later, Merlin found himself on the floor, disoriented and perplexed as he looked blearily up at the horrified faces of his students. He hadn't even realised he had passed out.

"Professor?" It was Hermione Granger, her face pale and concerned while poor Neville beside her looked like he was going to cry. "Are you alright? You were convulsing. It looked like you were having a fit. Dean's gone to fetch Madam Pomfrey."

"I..." Merlin had floundered, unsure what exactly had happened as he looked around. Ron Weasley's freckles were stark against his pallid skin as tears streaked down Parvati and Lavender's faces as they clutched each other. Harry Potter in contrast gave him an almost sympathetic look that Merlin understood immediately. If anyone in the world knew about passing out for no apparent reason, it was Harry Potter.

Merlin wearily put a hand to his pulsing chest, his heart beating faster and stronger than he had ever felt it beat before. It wasn't just beating. It felt indestructible. It felt _whole_. 

By the time Dean Thomas had arrived with Poppy Pomfrey, Merlin had already dismissed the rest of the class, his hands shaking with emotion.

As expected, Poppy had fussed over Merlin as she usually did, tsking under her breath as she went about her treatment.

"I'm fine, really," Merlin had tried to protest and, for once, he honestly meant it. He was better than fine. He was giddy. The blinding heat that had filled his chest before had seemed to have spread to his entire body and was making his magic sing inside him with a song he had forgotten the lyrics to many years ago.

 _Arthur_ , every cell inside him seemed to be shrieking with delight. Arthur had come at last. 

Shaking with pure emotion, Merlin didn't know it was possible to feel this much at once. 

And then Pomfrey pinched him on the arm.

"Ow!" Merlin yelped, trying to rub at the injury before getting his fingers slapped away with brisk fingers. "What was that for?" 

"I'm ensuring you don't have a concussion," she said, pressing wrinkled hands to his temple. It made Merlin frown a little. He didn't remember her hands looking that aged before. "Honestly, you really are as difficult as your uncle sometimes," she muttered and Merlin, who was still consumed with thoughts of Arthur, blinked as he realised that she was actually talking about _him_ when he used to disguise himself in the early seventies as Dragoon. "He was also a terrible patient. You bite less, however, and don't wear flowery bellbottoms so you are a marginal improvement."

"He was really fond of you, you know," Merlin said honestly because he was. There had never been a time when he hadn't liked Poppy Pomfrey's brave fierceness, even when she was a young girl and had rather methodically slapped a Slytherin girl who had been trying to bully her. Merlin had been instructed to give her detention for the act but had ended up dipping her hand in essence of dittany and making one of Gaius' poultices for her split lip. 

Apparently, watching Dragoon putter around creating healing tonics had compelled Poppy to pursue a career in medicine in the first place. Poppy hadn't been the first Merlin had influenced into their profession - there had technically been hundreds if he actually kept score, from teaching an eleven-year-old Newt Scamander all about hippogriffs to helping a young girl called Rosmerta, whose gift for potions made her an excellent toxicologist - but Poppy's was one of the few students whose careers he had witnessed bloom in front of his very eyes.

Merlin had seen so many of his youngsters grow with the natural progression of time but like Dumbledore before her, Merlin had practically witnessed her entire lifetime. He had watched her become a woman, find success, find love, have children, have grandchildren and had even been a Godfather to one of her sons as Dragoon. It made him feel wistful and incredibly honoured at the same time. He had never had that opportunity with Arthur. 

_Arthur_ , his magic sang inside him. 

He had to get to Arthur.

"So, um, what's the diagnosis, doc?" Merlin joked, his skin tingling with the urge to run out the door. "Am I going to lose the leg?"

"Strangely, it appears that your brain isn't damaged," Poppy said with a quirk of her lips, lowering her hands from their examination. "By all accounts, you are the healthiest man I have ever seen. You appear to have got your uncle's genes. Other than all the numerous accidents he had blowing up his office or just tripping over air, he was remarkably fit for a man of his age."

"He had stiff joints," Merlin put in, remembering how much of a literal pain it was to be Dragoon. He still found himself stooping at times from the muscle memory.

"And didn't he love letting us all know," she said softly, her wet eyes making Merlin feel like the algae found at the bottom of the lake. He had faked his own death more times than he could count but it was never easy seeing the pain it caused. Seeing people go through even a fraction of what he felt when he lost Arthur was almost enough to make him throw it all in and tell the truth but he never did.

 _Arthur_ , his magic sang again impatiently, reminding him with a furious tone as it whirled restlessly inside of him. It clearly wanted him to hurry this the hell up. He could almost imagine it testily tapping a golden foot. 

Poppy must have unconsciously felt his magic's surly mood because she soon dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and declared Merlin free to go.

"I still suggest you make an appointment with St Mungo's just to be safe. And if this happens again, you must promise to come straight back. Understood?"

Merlin was already halfway out the door when he yelled,

"I promise!" over his shoulder. He could almost see Poppy's look of disapproval but he didn't stick around to actually witness it.

He ran through the hallways, too preoccupied to respond to the greetings the portraits called out to him as he past, including the Fat Lady's enquiry of if their evening duet was still on. It was only when Merlin had made it all the way to the gates -- sweaty and breathless and readying himself to apparate -- that he stopped abruptly and realised that he had no idea where he was going. And then his heart -- which now felt so full after so many years of hollow emptiness -- tugged, lurching in a way that seemed to wordlessly tell Merlin that it would guide him to exactly where he needed to go.

So he disapparated, unsure what to expect on the other side.

Finding himself looking straight into the eyes of Queen Igraine Pendragon, however, wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

The queen didn't look particularly concerned that a strange man with mis-matched socks and a highly wrinkled set of robes had apparated into her room. Instead, she wore a look of pure contentment, turning to smile at Merlin like he was an old friend she had been expecting for years.

"Emrys," she whispered, her voice reverent and knowing in a way that reminded Merlin that the rumours of her being one of the greatest seers ever born may not have been exaggerated. 

"Your- your majesty," Merlin stuttered, so overcome by her that he only just stopped himself from dropping down into a curtsey. Merlin had seen her in both muggle and Wizarding publications but nothing could have prepared him for just how captivating Igraine Pendragon actually was in person, even when dressed in a nightgown and with her curls loose around her shoulders. She looked just as Merlin remembered all those years ago in that cave with Morgause but she now seemed to have a glow about her that made her both more real and more untouchable in equal measure. She also continued to look so much like Arthur that it made Merlin want to map out her face just to see where she ended and Arthur began.

He went pink when he realised he was staring.

"I-I'm sorry for showing up like this..." Merlin stuttered, feeling like a bumbling fool next to her grace.

"Please don't be. I knew you would come," Igraine said kindly and she honestly appeared to, considering the two cups of fine bone china that had been set out at the table. She then motioned for Merlin to sit with all the poise of the queen she was. "Please, sit," she said and Merlin went through the rather surreal position of easing himself down on the fanciest chair in Buckingham Palace as the Queen of England herself poured him a cup of tea.

"Milk?" Igraine asked politely.

"Er, yes, please," said Merlin, unconsciously wondering if this was the oddest thing that had ever happened to him. He then remembered that time he had ended up sitting as a model for Michelangelo with only a vine leaf covering his bits and decided it was at least in his top five.

"You know who I am," Merlin suddenly blurted out, feeling clumsy and a little ridiculous next to her but Igraine just looked at him like he had hung the moon itself.

"I think everyone on the planet knows who you are, Merlin. I've been seeing you in my dreams for so long that I feel that I know you." She then shook her head in awe, like she could scarcely believe it herself. It made her look girlish and innocently sweet in a way that Merlin would never have imagined seeing. He was used to receiving the odd reverent look from the few people who knew his true identity but the look Igraine was giving him made him feel like he was a God amongst men. She then smiled almost cheekily. "I have to confess, however, it is good to finally see your true face."

Confused, Merlin looked down at himself and was surprised to see his youthful appearance looking back at him from the reflection of the glass table. He had obviously dropped his glamour mid-apparation and hadn't noticed. His magic must have lowered its guard on its own. It was as though it knew he was somewhere safe where he could finally be himself.

Skin tingling at the revelation, Merlin swallowed hard as he thought on Igraine's words.

"So, you saw me in your dreams, your majesty?" Merlin said. He had never been spotted by a seer before. His magic usually made sure of it. Igraine smiled kindly.

"I think you wanted me to find you," she said softly. "I think you were searching for me to find you."

She then reached out a hand to place it over Merlin's and Merlin greedily took it, that tiny bit of motherly affection more than he had felt for years. He could feel the warmth of her hand spreading through his own. "I trust you want to see him."

"I-" Merlin's voice broke, feeling ridiculously overwhelmed but Igraine seemed to take pity on him and gently tugged him by the hand instead, leading him through an open arch that was quite obviously the royal bedroom.

Merlin didn't respond to this, suddenly finding himself incapable of speech.

Igraine reached out and, to Merlin's surprise, pulled him into a hug so tender that he hadn't felt its kind since Hunith had held him for the last time. His mother had traced his face with wrinkled fingers, her eyes shining with both love and sadness as she took in his youthful face and murmured, _"My boy."_ It was enough to make the Merlin of the present choke despite himself.

"You've waited so long," Igraine said softly in his ear, her voice almost like a melody as she stroked a hand through his hair. "You've gone through so much. So much loneliness and pain. I could feel it before but being in your presence... it's almost overwhelming. I am sorry he couldn't be there for you in those times of need. I am sorry for your suffering every day since. I can only hope, Emrys, that he can be there for you in the future."

She then eased back and dropped her hand to Merlin's elbow, gently steering him towards the crib.

"Go," she said. "He's waiting to meet you."

Barely able to feel his legs, Merlin walked towards the curtained Moses basket, shaking so badly that every step he took felt like a monumental victory against gravity. 

When he finally laid eyes on the baby, however, his legs were quite literally the last thing on his mind.

A pink-cheeked infant looked back at Merlin, his huge eyes a brilliant blue as he wore a curious, almost condescending expression, as though he was wondering who on earth this blithering idiot was.

It was enough to make Merlin let out a joyful laugh, his face already wet and dripping with tears. 

Arthur. After so many years, it was him. There was no denying that expression or this feeling of utter completeness within Merlin that made him wonder how he had managed to go centuries without it. For over a thousand years, he had tried to nurse this open wound, had watched it bleed and fester as the most important piece of him had been taken.

Now it was back and his magic couldn't seem to contain itself. It literally danced in front of him, a brilliant, shimmering golden light that swirled out of him and around Arthur, as though it was trying to embrace the baby like a long lost friend. 

Baby Arthur stared at the magic with a sense of wonder and Merlin couldn't stop the sob of happiness that came out of him at the sight. There had been a time where all he had ever wanted was Arthur to approve of his magic.

"Hello- hello there, dollophead," he hiccoughed when he finally managed to get his voice back, lifting a shaking hand to offer his finger to the newborn. "It's me - idiot."

The baby, who had pursed his little lips, seemed to believe 'idiot" was a perfectly appropriate name for Merlin. Despite this, he still curled his chubby hand around the finger anyway, as though granting him some sort of magnanimous favour. 

It made Merlin choke out a laugh that almost turned to tears. 

"There's my clotpole," he sniffed fondly, happiness bubbling out of him as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "You're late, you know."

The baby looked scandalised by this. Somehow, Merlin found himself falling a little bit more in love with him.

"Would you like to hold him?" Igraine asked and Merlin almost jumped at the sound of her voice because he had completely forgotten she was still there.

He looked down at Arthur again, staring at the wonder of him in incredulity. 

"May I?" he asked, even as Igraine began to carefully take Arthur out of the basket. The baby fussed a little as he was disturbed, wriggling his little limbs with the movement but seemed content enough the moment he was placed in Merlin's arms, as though there was nowhere he would rather be. As he lay there peacefully, a warm, fragile weight in Merlin's arms, Merlin realised there was nothing he wouldn't do -- no foe he wouldn't face -- to keep this child from harm.

Which was the moment Arthur's eyes glowed gold and Merlin almost fell over with surprise.

"He... he has magic?" he gasped, whirling around to look at Igraine.

"He died in the arms of magic itself," Igraine said, almost ethereal-looking with her white nightgown, pale hair and even paler skin. "It is only fitting he rises with it in his blood."

Merlin stared agog at Igraine, trying to digest this.

"He has my magic inside him?" Merlin stared back at the baby, who had clearly taken a shine to Merlin's finger and had grabbed it again, refusing to let it go. "But you and Uther are both magical. Surely he got his skill from you both."

"Our eyes do not glow when we cast a spell, Merlin," she said gently, almost sadly and Merlin knew why. Igraine had always needed help to bear a child. "Arthur has always been a child created from magic. Before it had been Nimueh's. This time, he was formed from yours."

Arthur then promptly closed his eyes, as though that had been enough excitement for today, looking unbearably sweet and as he lay cocooned in the warm glow of Merlin's magic. 

Merlin felt his chest fit to burst with love.

"What happens now?" he whispered more to himself than anyone else. He had spent so many years waiting that he didn't quite know what else to do. Now Arthur was finally here, he was at a bit of a loss.

Merlin was surprised, however, by Igraine's determined reply.

"You must return to Hogwarts, Merlin," she said firmly. "It will need your protection. I have foreseen it."

"But Arthur," he said, feeling panicked as he held the baby against him as though someone would take him from him at any moment. Merlin had only just got Arthur back and couldn't stand to be parted from him so soon. Having him back and then losing him almost immediately after was almost too much to bear. "I've waited for him. I was made to protect him. He... he's the only thing that matters. I need to be with him." 

"And he will need you there, Emrys," Igraine assured, her voice placating like he was a spooked animal she was trying to calm. "I promise. When the magic of this house can no longer protect him, it will be you I will depend on to keep him safe. When he has to step outside its walls and attend Hogwarts himself, he will need you more than anyone."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest and remembered the very same argument he had once had with Albus about Harry Potter. 

_"They're awful! Ron told me that they make him sleep in a cupboard! How can you possibly send him back to them year after year?"_

_"Because there is nowhere in the world where he can be safer. The Dursleys may be a disgrace to mugglekind but Petunia is still Harry's blood. Not even Voldemort can touch him there."_

Merlin looked back down at Arthur, who was snoring gently and felt his insides sink.

"But... but I need to know he is safe," he said, his voice breaking as he was sure his heart did the same. "I need to see him."

"And you shall," Igraine said. She then promptly pulled a cold, smooth object out of the pocket of her nightgown. Looking down at it, Merlin felt his jaw drop in recognition.

"Where did you get this?" he asked in awe as he looked down at the crystal shard that was glittering in her hand. "The lost seeing stones have been missing for centuries. I only ever came across one in all my years and that stopped working for me years ago."

"I'm the queen, Merlin," Igraine said and she looked playful again, an impish look in her eye that was so like Arthur's. "I do have resources, you know."

Shaking his head, Merlin looked down at the crystal in genuine incredulity. Shining back at him from its foggy depths was Arthur's sleeping face. It wasn't as good as the real Arthur sleeping in his arms but it was something.

Merlin swallowed hard before lifting his head back up to look at Igraine.

"You're really organised," he said, feeling a smile tug at his mouth despite himself.

Igraine smirked back and pointed at herself.

"Seer," she said simply. “And that’s not everything. I’ve taken a hand to portrait painting as well. In fact…” and here she indicated to a gold frame with a painting of a lush looking room. Merlin couldn’t see it very well from where he was standing but there was something strangely familiar about it. “What do you think?” Igraine asked, her eyes eager.

A little thrown by why he was suddenly assigned royal art critic, Merlin politely replied, even as he was scratching his head at the significance of this.

“It’s.. ah, very homely, your majesty.”

“Excellent. That’s just what I wanted to hear, It’s yours after all.”

“Mine? I, er.. that’s very kind of you. I’m sure I can find a space for it in my office. Archimedes gets a little territorial with the teaching supplies but he generally leaves art alone. He’s a bit of a connoisseur.”

Igraine laughed, a tinkling one that somehow managed to be amused by him without mocking him in the slightest. It was a talent that Arthur had clearly never received from his mother. 

“You are more charming than I ever realised you would be,” Igraine said. She then looked down at the sleeping baby, who almost seemed to be smiling himself. “No wonder he loved you so much.” 

Merlin didn’t know what to say to that.

“Your majesty-“ he began.

“The painting is for you to visit, Emrys,” she said kindly. “I painted two. One to sit here, one for you to take. I know most paintings usually depict their subject but I have a feeling that someone with your infinite power can figure out a way to move himself between the two.”

Merlin stared at her in shock.

“You made me a second home?”

“And a portal. You don’t even need to declare tax on it,” she said, amused. “Now tell me, do you like your furnishings? I had a vision of you in this room so let me know if you want me to paint in a footstool or something.”

That was when it hit Merlin like a flying cauldron - this painting was of Arthur’s bedroom. He felt like a fool for not recognising it before. It looked exactly the same, from the grand four poster bed and lush red curtains to Arthur’s writing desk, covered in scrolls that no doubt included the royal speeches Merlin spent hours slaving over. The attention to detail was incredible. Even the hole in the bedpost was there, when Merlin had tried to murder Arthur with a crossbow.

It was enough to make Merlin emotional again. This day really was turning him into a blubbering mess.

“It’s perfect,” he said genuinely, voice choked up as he ran his fingers over the painting, the electric trail of his magic grazing upon a vase of flowers on Arthur’s desk, which promptly dropped a petal or two under his touch.

It reminded him of the time he had tried to have a likeness of Arthur painted back in 1503, purely because he missed him. Armed with this pensieve of memories and the skill of a certain Italian inventor Merlin had befriended on holiday called Leonardo Da Vinci, the painting that had been created was amazing, breathtaking really. Together, he and Leonardo had managed to make the first truly animated portrait of a non-magical person in existence. The first time Merlin had talked to his painting of Arthur, however, it became clear how much of a shallow representation he was. The painting only had Leonardo's limited grasp of how Arthur was so he repeated things and soon Merlin began to resent it because it wasn't him. 

As Merlin looked back down at the baby Arthur of the present -- sweeping his eyes over pale eyelashes and rounded cheeks -- he realised no portrait could have ever captured this. 

"So it really is alright if I visit him on my days off? Through the painting?" he asked Igraine, his voice so ridiculously hopeful he would have normally felt a little sheepish about it. Now, every word Igraine uttered felt like a lifeline.

Igraine smiled at him indulgently, a look he himself had usually worn when looking at his favourite students.

"Of course, why else would I have given you this portrait? It’ll make your life easier getting inside the palace. In any case, I couldn’t fight destiny even if I wanted to. You are two sides of the same coin, after all."

Merlin felt his skin tingle with those words.

"I haven't heard anyone say that for a long time," he said a little shakily, thinking of Kilgharrah. 

Igraine smiled softy.

“It's rare, the bond you have. Even with my gift of foresight, I’ve never seen another like it. The fact he has your magic, the fact he bears your mark... he is part of you.”

This was one thing Merlin did know. In all his years on earth, he had never come across any other couples who were truly bonded the way he and Arthur had been. He had naturally read countless texts after Arthur’s death, scrolls upon scrolls, wondering how he could possibly survive when his destiny was dead - especially when he _felt_ dead and hollow himself.

And then Merlin took in what Igraine had just said.

“What do you mean he bears my mark?

“This is your mark, is it not?” Igraine asked, already knowing Merlin’s response when she showed Merlin the rune that was sitting on the baby’s chest, golden and glittering like magic itself. 

Merlin immediately felt tears in his eyes again. He really would need a drink soon before he completely dehydrated himself and passed out.

“That’s… thats the Pendragon crest.”

“The Pendragon crest is a dragon. You are a dragonlord. I’d say it’s your mark just as much as it is Arthur’s.”

Merlin’s fingers brushed the mark, which immediately came to life with his touch, throwing back its golden head and breathing fire. 

Merlin had heard of soul marks as a concept, had read of them in books as inky dark shapes against the skin like Druidic tattoos but none had mentioned that they glowed, none had been alive and golden, like magic itself.

Even Igraine had looked amazed.

“It certainly didn’t do that when I touched it.”

 _You are the last dragonlord_ , Balinor’s voice rang in his ears. _You alone carry the ancient gift._

Merlin didn’t know if he was laughing or crying.

“Dragonlord,” he reminded her, his mouth aching slightly because his smile was so overwhelmingly wide. The happiness in him almost felt too much for him to bear. It had been so long since he had felt it that he didn’t know if he had the capacity to hold it in his chest without exploding. 

Igraine seemed to understand as she held out her hand again to grasp his, which he clutched like a lifeline.

“This is just the beginning, Emrys,” she said.

He would later come to realise just how right she really was.


	8. The Death of Igraine Pendragon

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**1995**

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Death was a constant of life that Merlin, unfortunately, was more familiar with than almost anybody else. It had slowly taken everyone from him, from Arthur and Hunith to the people he had known and loved long after Camelot, such as Godric and Leonardo, the latter of whom he had met when he caught the man -- then just a boy -- unsuccessfully trying to build a flying machine. Later on, when Merlin had helped Leonardo perfect his invention, he had gifted Merlin with a certain painting on his deathbed that Merlin had charitably donated to a museum. In hindsight, he probably should have just kept it. Apparently, a girl barely smiling was all the rage on the art scene.

Even Merlin's students, who were children when he first happened across them, didn't escape the sands of time. Some lived relatively long lives, like Cornelius Agrippa -- a brilliant Ravenclaw boy whose aptitude for numbers had bamboozled Merlin so much he had a three day migraine after meeting him -- while others, like the frankly astonishing Alan Turing had died tragically young. 

Merlin had seen millions perish in war, disease and famine and had witnessed the human race at its absolute cruelest as genocide ran rampant around the globe.

The Black Death, in particular, had been hard because he had watched a lot of his own students and professors fall prey to the affliction, dying in a matter of hours after the symptoms appeared. Merlin had desperately tried to find a spell because surely he had been immortalised to stop these things from happening but nothing he tried had worked. It reminded him of the Afanc plague all the way back to his Camelot days. The sense of uselessness he had felt then had reappeared with full force now but this was so much worse. A few dozen people died in Camelot. Millions died worldwide because of the plague.

In the end, the Great Fire had been Kilgharrah's fault. It was supposed to be an effective way of burning the piles of dead but Kilgharrah had got carried away as he always did and set a bakery on Pudding Lane on fire. Before they knew it, half the city was ablaze and a sooty and singed Merlin was busy obliviating every slack-jawed muggle he could find, who were busier shrieking about the standoffish dragon than the inferno that was literally setting them all alight.

Afterwards, when they realised the fire had stopped the plague, Kilgharrah had primly stated he knew it the whole time. Having come out of the debacle with two singed eyebrows and his arsecheeks on show when his pants literally caught fire, Merlin didn't believe him for a second. Kilgharrah was nothing but a giant pyromaniac.

But despite all these deaths, the one that made his magic mourn was that of Igraine. It was also the one that completely changed the country for the worse.

Igraine had been volunteering for a few nights at a St Mungo's shelter for emergency patients when it had happened. She had been tending to a wounded, eight-year-old boy who had been suffering from some sort of bite. 

Before the staff discovered he was suffering from lycanthropy, it was too late. Witnesses said she had no chance, with the boy in question going straight for her throat with his claws. He had been killed in the attempts to restrain him.

Igraine had died of her injuries almost instantly.

Merlin had felt the moment she died. He felt hollow and breathless and had such a feeling of grief and foreboding that he feared something awful was coming. It had felt like all the horrors of the world, all the tragedy and evil Merlin had seen in all his many years, had all been distilled down to that exact moment. It had reminded him sharply of that moment when the Cailleach had appeared to him - he knew untold horrors would follow.

And they soon did.

Uther practically lost his mind.

The entire country mourned from shock and loss but Uther’s grief was a sight to behold. Merlin had thought the King had been bad enough in Camelot when he executed hundreds because of the death of one woman, but even Merlin hadn’t seen Uther this unhinged. 

It was horribly like watching history repeat itself all over again. Merlin had seen it time and again over the years, the way politics never seemed to change. It swung, from one extreme to the other, from one carefully crafted agenda to the next. There was always a scapegoat and there were always spin doctors concocting their own special recipe for fear and spoon-feeding it to the masses. In Camelot, it had been sorcery that was the enemy. In Nazi Germany, it had been a whole religion of people. For Voldemort, muggleborns had been his primary target.

After the death of Igraine, it was magical beings of every kind. 

Werewolves, vampires, hags, veela, house elves and giants were all targeted under stringent new laws. Uther helped enact a legislation to have their status as beings reclassified to beasts. As such, their rights became almost non-existent, with previously classified beasts -- such as centaurs, dragons and merpeople -- also losing what little autonomy they had. 

All magical beasts now had to undergo mandatory registration, invasive medical examinations and were fitted with magical collars that caused pain when they used unauthorised magic or misbehaved in some way. The ones who refused or tried to escape registration were rounded up and sent to the Beast Wing in Azkaban, many without a trial. No one knew exactly what happened in that wing but there were rumours that it made the rest of Azkaban feel like a day spa. The fact the Dementor’s kiss would have been a blessing in comparison to what was happening to them made Merlin’s blood run cold.

Because Merlin _was_ magic. 

What was happening to them was an aberration and he felt it in his veins, their fear, their deaths. The anguish in their passing, the unspeakable torture they were being put through. It reminded Merlin of the first time he had seen an obscurial. Such agony and suffering in magical form had almost knocked him out with emotion. It had felt like his magic was haemorrhaging, more painful than any wound he had ever received. The very earth under his feet was crying.

As aurors in the DMLE, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had been the first to refuse their orders to bring in the newly classified magical beings for detainment. They were infamously snapped by the Daily Prophet as they stormed out of their offices furiously, two cardboard boxes of their belongings floating behind them while a tomato-red Ron Weasley yelled at the press and gave a scandalised Rita Skeeter the finger.

Hermione Granger was also a hugely vocal voice at this time but there was such misunderstanding and prejudice against magical beings that her words were falling on deaf ears.

It seemed as though no one in power would listen to reason. The sheer hatred of the ‘other’ had turned once kind and compassionate people fearful. They clung to Ministry-issued pamphlets that detailed in step-by-step illustrations how best to dispatch a vampire if you saw one on your property, as though they were vermin, not intelligent beings with a terrible affliction. 

“There is something in the air, young warlock,” said Kilgharrah during one of their weekly picnics in the Forbidden Forest. “Can’t you feel it?”

The fact that there was still a creature on the earth that considered Merlin a ‘young warlock’ still filled him with a strange sort of comfort. It was half the reason why he continued these picnics, where he would get Kilgharrah a giant bit of meat from the butcher's while Merlin ate a sandwich and rubbed sun lotion into his skin. Apparently, being immortal didn't stop Merlin from burning.

“Magic is disappearing, isn’t it?” Merlin asked, his corned beef sandwiches untouched as he looked up at this friend’s huge scaly body. How Kilgharrah managed to sit so pompously as he delicately ate his raw steak was a wonder. If it wasn't for his size, he wouldn't have looked out of place in a fancy restaurant. “Magic never felt like a finite resource before but the more Uther purges the land, the less I can feel it.”

“The more Uther Pendragon eradicates magical beings, the more magic he removes from the world." Kilgharrah spat Uther's name out like it was the filthiest slur. He then dabbed the corner of his mouth with Merlin's picnic blanket as though it was a napkin. Merlin appreciated that he still had impeccable table manners, even when angry. "The treatment of dragons as wild beasts is bad enough, with only a handful even able to speak. Soon goblins and maybe even muggles might be reclassified. If we aren’t careful, Merlin, soon you will be the only magic left in the world, but even you will be weakened.”

Merlin could already feel it. It was like he was bleeding out 

“Witches and wizards are turning into squibs. We have a much smaller class size at Hogwarts this year,” he said, hardly believing it himself. It wasn't until Merlin looked at the sparse group of new first years huddled nervously around the Sorting Hat that he realised how dire things really were.

“That is because magic is already overstrained," Kilgharrah explained. "Children who should have received their powers haven’t because there simply is not enough.”

The very thought of there being a stopper on magic was so terrifying to Merlin that his poor corned beef sandwich squished into a congealed mess under his fingers.

“The more he tries to purify magic, the more he destroys it,” Merlin said softly, shaking his head at the irony. It was just like Uther to make a dire situation even worse. The man really excelled at self-destructive megalomania. He could have taught it as a degree.

Kilgharrah sniffed in response, making half the trees in the clearing around them wobble with the force of it.

“That is why we must stop him, young warlock,” he said firmly.

 _“How?”_ Merlin asked because honestly, he needed all the help he could get. He didn't have a clue how he could fix this.

“Arthur," Kilghrrah said grandly, lifting himself up to puff out his chest with gravitas. The effect was lost slightly by the chunk of steak that was lodged firmly in between his font teeth. "He’s the key to everything.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes at Kilgharrah. He had heard Kilgharrah blathering on about his destiny for centuries and still wasn't convinced the giant lizard was telling the truth. He was like the pushiest, scaliest matchmaker in the history of the world.

“This is when you get horribly vague about everything again, isn’t it?” Merlin asked gloomily, wishing he hadn't destroyed his sandwich because he honestly needed energy to deal with this conversation.

“Arthur needs to become King. He needs to overthrow his father.”

Merlin blinked. That was clearer than usual. 

“Oh, not that vague then," Merlin conceded, surprised. He expected at least three more evasions and then for Kilgharrah to fly off with a snappy, cryptic rejoinder. "But to overthrow Uther, he needs to grow up first. What if it’s too late by then?”

“It’s your destiny to make sure it isn’t," Kilgharrah said enigmatically, back to form.

Merlin threw his mushy sandwich at him, watching with satisfaction as it bopped him on the giant nose.

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If Uther was anything, he was consistent. He appeared to be a tyrant in every incarnation, bigoted and bad-tempered and cruel. He also consistently always seemed to love his son more than life itself.

For someone who had so much hate and spite in his heart, Merlin honestly found his momentary bouts of paternal love mind-boggling. Uther was so protective, in fact, that he barely let Arthur out in public. 

For the first three years of Arthur's life, Merlin was lucky enough to have his painting to slip into when he wanted to see Arthur. Igraine had kept to her word and placed the painting she had created in Arthur's bedroom, where Merlin had an excellent view watching the baby grow into a precocious toddler, his golden eyes setting his drapes on fire so many times that his nannies began to wear fireproof robes. Merlin would always visit the painting in his Dragoon disguise, usually watching him silently but occasionally piping up gruffly to tell Arthur off when his room was a sty - which it often was because, even at three, that boy was a whirlwind.

And then one day Merlin walked into his frame and found himself looking out at the inside of a supply cupboard. His painting had obviously been moved from Arthur's rooms, along with Igraine’s other things. He could see the chair she favoured, her dressing table and even her clothes, including the nightgown Merlin had first seen her in. Uther had clearly locked her away, like a secret to be buried away, so Arthur had little to no connection with her. 

Heart hurting, Merlin knew he would have to wait until Hogwarts to see Arthur again. 

So Merlin waited, time moving almost agonisingly slowly as he watched new first years come and go every year. Every second seemed to feel like a year as he counted down the moment Arthur would enroll into Hogwarts and come back to him.

After what felt like an age, only one more year remained before Arthur was due to come to the school. It was only then that Merlin knocked on the Headmistress' door and asked Professor McGonagall for a moment of her time. 

By then, he had been disguised as Dragoon’s grandson Barnaby Haddock for the last twenty years. Barnaby had been well liked, studious, a little clumsy and completely non-obtrusive. He had also had a face as far from Merlin’s own as Merlin could possibly imagine, with a bulbous nose and round, watery eyes. 

With Arthur returning, however, there was only one face Merlin wanted Arthur to see - his true one. So, he folded his hands in front of him, thanked Professor McGonagall for her infinite kindness towards him and told her with a heavy heart it was time for good old Barnaby to go.

“We’ll miss you, Barnaby,” McGonagall had said genuinely, looking as choked up as he had ever seen her as she shook his hand firmly. “It really will be a wrench finding a replacement for you.”

“About that,” Merlin smiled, already feeling giddy as his magic sang inside him at the promise of a new beginning. “Barnaby might be technically leaving but I won’t be.”

McGonagall looked understandably puzzled.

“There’s actually something I need to confess to you, Minerva. Something only Dumbledore knew before you. It’s about who I truly am. Let me make a cup of tea first. Oh, and you might want to sit down. It’s a hell of a story.”


	9. Year One: The Hag with a Grudge

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**2005**

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When Arthur finally did show up at Hogwarts, Merlin had been waiting for his return for so long that he literally let out a teary choke of excitement when it happened, causing several professors to shift away from him in case they caught the newest seasonal pox. Hagrid, being eternally gentle, had been one of the few not to move, handing Merlin a dotted handkerchief the size of a small bedspread instead while Neville Longbottom kindly pushed a glass of water towards him in concern. 

“A-allergies,” Merlin had blubbered like a blobfish with a split lip, dabbing his eyes with the giant hankie and sweeping half the floor with it in the process.

He was sure he looked utterly mad but he didn’t give a flying quaffle at that moment because the blond boy approaching the Sorting Hat really was Arthur. There was no denying it. His face was rounder, his hair was floppier and he looked like he barely came up to Merlin's shoulder but it was, without a question of a doubt, Arthur. _His_ Arthur. Merlin felt like his chest was bursting as an emotion strong enough to eclipse the sun rushed through his veins. It wasn't elation. That was too tame a word. The world felt like it had literally stopped spinning with a screech. Swallowing thickly, Merlin wondered how it was possible to feel whiplash when you hadn’t even moved a muscle. 

And it wasn’t just Arthur’s return that was affecting him like this. A small, terrified-looking Guinevere also stood within the waiting first-year students, fiddling with the long sleeve of her robes and surrounded on all sides by a whole host of familiar faces. George and even Elena were in attendance but all Merlin’s eyes focused on besides Arthur and Gwen were the former knights of Camelot sporadically dotted around the place. 

Other than the height difference, the men -- now boys -- had honestly barely changed. Merlin spotted a tiny Gwaine near the front, throwing back his glorious head of hair and directing a mischievous grin up at a towering and awkward-looking Percival. Percival in comparison was almost too tall to be allowed, sticking out like a giraffe in a sea of erumpets as he hunched in on himself to (unsuccessfully) look as small as possible.

Merlin also spotted Lancelot and his heart clenched as his eyes greedily ran over those familiar features. Even now, as concerned as young Lancelot looked by proceedings, he was as brave as always, his little chin raised high to tackle the Sorting ceremony head-on. Leon and Elyan were also wearing similar expressions as they stood to the left of the group. Merlin could almost imagine them with swords in their hands because they looked a hair away from squeaking out “On me!” and rushing into battle. 

Instead of doing that, however, Elyan leaned over to whisper something in his sister’s ear that made her relax a little. Merlin felt emotion pool at his gut again. It was so like Elyan and Gwen to watch out for each other. 

They _really_ were all back. Merlin’s friends, his family. 

_Arthur._

Because there was Arthur, characteristically at the centre of attention as he sat under the Sorting Hat. As soon as his name had been called, the whispering in the Great Hall had grown frantic, the echoes of it fluttering off the walls like the combined wings of a thousand Cornish Pixies. Even members of faculty had joined in on the charged atmosphere of the room to subtly lean forward in interest, as Dumbledore had with Harry Potter years before, drinking in this moment of history. 

All in all, it wasn’t a very long moment.

Barely a second had passed before the hat loudly declared Arthur a “Gryffindor!” to Merlin’s complete lack of surprise. It just made Merlin smile a little wryly because _of course_ Arthur was a Gryffindor. The dummy had never seen a dangerous situation he didn’t want to throw himself at headfirst. Merlin was half-surprised he hadn’t tackled the hat to the ground and challenge it to a duel to the death.

Looking rather pleased with the hat’s choice, Arthur moved towards the Gryffindor table, his satisfied expression so familiar to Merlin that seeing it again felt like wrapping himself in a warm old cloak. Merlin could almost feel the phantom pain of a goblet banging against the back of his head but he just wrote that off to mild trauma.

Everything in the world suddenly felt right.

Which, of course, was the moment Morgana’s name was called out. 

If Arthur’s name had filled him with warmth and joy, Morgana’s made Merlin feel like he was falling into an icy abyss.

Morgana. The biggest regret he had ever had in his life was Morgana. Every mistake he made had shaped her for the worse. Looking back at all his choices, Merlin was sure all the pain and suffering could have all been avoided if he had just told her about his magic at the very beginning. If he had, she wouldn’t have felt so alone and she wouldn’t have been driven to do the things she had. 

Merlin still remembered her when he had first come to Camelot. She had been so beautiful and kind and he had been half in love with her at the time, something that only got stronger when she had donned armour to risk her life for Ealdor, for _him._

He desperately wanted that Morgana back. He desperately hoped she was the one who had returned but Sybil Trelawney’s words kept floating back to him, like a spectre haunting the back of his mind.

 _Another Dark Majesty shall rise_ . _They will ascend and bring more pain and suffering than the world has ever seen…_

Watching the dark-haired little girl stepping towards the hat, Merlin knew exactly where she would end up. After all, it’s where he would have gone if he had ever joined Hogwarts as a student.

“Slytherin!”

Staring after her with painful longing as she made her way to her new classmates, he only hoped he could save her from herself this time. 

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Due to his new History of Magic schedule, Merlin’s first classes with Arthur and the others wouldn’t occur until after the weekend.

For a man who had waited a millenia, those two days felt almost unbearable. 

As he watched Arthur from afar, he tried his hardest not to come across as a mad stalker (or break character and just throw his arms around Arthur in a mad fit of teary giddiness). It also helped him come to a solid conclusion. 

This Arthur was undeniably the biggest tool in the school. He had obnoxious friends and thought he was better than everyone else. He was exactly like that boy Merlin had first met all those years ago, throwing knives at his servant, arrogant and brash and so entitled that it was a wonder his head had even fit into that courtyard.

Merlin worried about his sanity that he found himself missing this.

Knowing it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed for the first time (again), Merlin thrummed with anticipation, fleetingly hoping this time didn’t include a scuffle. 

Unfortunately, it did, but this time the animosity wasn’t aimed towards him.

“Wait, hey!” Merlin said, rushing over to instinctively step between the boy Arthur and his friends had pinned to the wall. “What in the name of Circe is going on here?”

“Quidditch practise, sir,” said Arthur, turning around to blink those blue eyes innocently up at him. Their gazes finally locked and Merlin felt his magic sing like a gospel choir inside him, rushing through his veins like liquid gold. Merlin felt a firm tug at his gut, as though destiny itself was pulling him towards Arthur and tried his hardest not to fall apart. God, he had missed that look so much. _He had missed Arthur so much._

This feeling was short-lived, however, when he looked at the terrified boy Arthur had been holding up and almost did a double take.

“Morris?” he said in awe. He was smaller than the Morris in Camelot but he had the same dark mop of hair, big eyes and skinny frame. It made Merlin want to scoff. Fate was an arse for making this poor boy a punching bag in every goddamn lifetime.

“We were just teaching him how to catch, professor,” Arthur tried to say kindly, releasing Morris in what appeared to be a magnanimous gesture. His big eyes were doing severe overtime. Merlin would have been more impressed by Arthur’s powers of persuasion if he wasn’t using them to be a little shit. “He was having some trouble staying on his feet, sir.” 

The boys behind Arthur sniggered but immediately stopped when Merlin narrowed his eyes at them. Merlin recognised Arthur’s two friends as Kay and Lucan, two knights who Arthur had hung around with when Merlin had first come to Camelot. They had been two sycophants back then and it looked like they were continuing the tradition. Kay had been the kind of man who would let Arthur stab him repeatedly in the head until he dropped dead, while Lucan had actually once offered Arthur a night with his fiance so Arthur could honour their match with his ‘mighty royal seed’. The fact that even Arthur had realised that was going too far said something. 

Looking at the two boys of the present, Merlin hoped they would turn out better this time around. 

“I think I understand exactly what’s happening here, gentlemen,” Merlin said genially, patting Morris on the back, whose face seemed frozen in panic. The poor boy looked like he was either going to wet himself or he already had. Arthur in contrast just smiled winningly, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. It made Merlin let out his own simpering smile. “Well, your highness, there is only one way I can reward such compassionate behaviour.” He then dropped the smile immediately. “Detention. The three of you can tell me in detail all about your teaching methods. Maybe I’ll learn something.”

Arthur’s smile disappeared faster than a piece of gold around a niffler.

“You can’t do that.”

“ ‘Pretty sure I can,” Merlin replied, unmoved. 

He wasn’t sure if he was impressed or annoyed that Arthur didn’t seem cowed for a moment. He had always been too brave and pigheaded for his own good. Even the way he pouted was the same. 

“My father-“ Arthur began, rising up on his heels as high as he possibly could.

“Is not my boss,” Merlin said firmly. “You’re at Hogwarts now, Mr Pendragon. You won’t get any special treatment here, no matter how shiny your father’s hat is.”

"It’s not a hat, it’s a crown!” Arthur said, scandalised. “And in any case, he's the king, he's everyone's boss!"

“He doesn't pay me - ergo, not my boss," Merlin said, crossing his arms resolutely. He had already had a lifetime of being in service to Uther and wasn't about to let that happen again, thank you very much. "You know, I knew another little blond boy like you who used to insist his father could solve all his problems. He didn’t make many friends.”

Arthur glared at him. It was a bit like getting a death stare from an angry puppy. Merlin didn’t know whether to laugh or to just hug him. He never knew his Arthur as a child but he had an idea that he was exactly like this.

“Now, apologise to Morris.”

Arthur looked petulantly at the boy before obstinately lifting up his chin like the prince he was. 

“I don’t have to,” he said with an impressive sneer that he had no doubt practised on poor harangued nannies for years.

It appeared as though this mini version of Arthur was not only as frustrating as his previous iteration but continued the tradition of being so far up his own arse that he could have choked on a kidney. Merlin had to fight hard to keep the goofy smile from his face.

He would not be charmed, damn it.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Merlin said serenely and couldn’t help feeling amusement at how quickly Arthur’s face went from sneering to horrified.

“You can’t be serious. Professor-”

“And you’ll lose another five if I don’t hear an apology, Mr Pendragon.” Merlin said firmly. “I’m sure your housemates will be extremely understanding.” 

From the look on Arthur’s face, he clearly never had anyone speak to him like this before because he looked like someone had suckerpunched him. Kay and Lucan were also gaping, looking between the two of them like spectators at a tennis match.

Arthur opened his mouth again, looking like he wanted to argue some more but whatever he saw in Merlin’s face stopped him. His lips then curled into a pout as he looked down at the ground.

“Sorry,” he grumbled towards the direction of his shoes.

“Please speak up, Mr Pendragon.”

Arthur lifted up his face, eyes angry but determined.

“Sorry, Morris.”

“Excellent,” Merlin clapped his hands together brightly, as though they had been discussing wallpaper swatches. “I’ll inform Professor Flitwick he’ll have three more for detention tonight, Filius loves guests.” 

Merlin then turned kindly to Morris, who still looked a little shell-shocked. “Now, how about we head over to my office, hmm? I think a nice cup of tea will do us both good. Don’t try the rock cakes though. I only keep them around for self defense when one of the Hinkypunks in my tank get loose.”

If anything, Morris looked even more terrified.

“Gentlemen, I’ll see you in class.”

And boy did he.

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Merlin was just writing the incantation on his blackboard when, almost out of nowhere, an animated paper dragon suddenly flew at his head at breakneck speed. Ducking it just in time, Merlin watched the bad tempered little guy abruptly hit the blackboard and land on the floor in a crumpled, mildly confused heap of origami. It then righted itself up, let out a squawk of righteous indignation and opened its mouth to attempt to fry Merlin with its fire breath before promptly setting itself on fire instead. Watching the smoking remains at his feet, Merlin was mildly impressed. Creating a dragon that homicidal was pretty exceptional for a first year.

Merlin schooled his face into his best professor frown. Even after a thousand years, he still worried it made him look constipated.

“Alright, who did that?” Merlin demanded, hands on his hips as he looked around at his students. He didn’t need to know Arthur for years to know that expression. It was the one he always wore when he was trying to spin some ridiculous tale to his father. Merlin tried not to sigh. “Arthur Pendragon, five points from Gryffindor.”

The look of faux-innocence on Arthur's face dropped from it quicker than an anvil.

“You can’t prove it was me," he tried to argue.

“I can actually,” Merlin returned just as smartly back. “Something you would know, Arthur, if you paid attention when I was talking about Priori Incantatem. Can anyone remind Arthur what that spell entails?"

George's hand immediately shot up in the air. When Merlin motioned for him to speak, he looked so inordinately pleased that he had been chosen that Merlin had to restrain from smiling. He found that he had actually missed George.

"Priori Incantatem is the spell that reveals all previous spells casted by a particular wand," said George, as matter-of-fact and prim as he had been in Camelot. With his top button fastened and his shirt so crisp that Merlin wouldn't be surprised if he had an iron under his desk, George hadn't really changed much at all.

"Excellent, George. Five points to Ravenclaw," Merlin said genuinely, watching George nod smugly at the praise as Arthur crossed his arms and glared sullenly at them both. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. Tiny sullen Arthur was far sweeter than he had any right to be. Merlin cleared his throat.

"Alright, ladies and gents, now who can tell me what the largest Wizarding War in the nineteenth century was?"

A couple of hands shot up in the air but Merlin's eyes were on Gwen, who looked nervous and was determinably trying not to catch Merlin's eye. 

It made Merlin smile with fondness as he was reminded that he had loved this girl unequivocally. It almost made him feel bad when he picked on her but he couldn’t help it. If anyone’s voice should have been heard, it was hers. 

“Gwen?” he prompted.

“The Giant Wars?” she answered with uncertainty. Merlin melted into a smile. No matter the year, she was always as sharp as a whip.

“Excellent, Gwen. Five points to Hufflepuff.” Gwen seemed to blush happily right down to her toes. “Now, does anyone know the most important figure in the Giant Wars, the one who instigated the very first rebellion? Gwaine?”

Gwaine, who had been clearly trying to chat up Morgana and failing spectacularly (considering the wand she was pointing at his crotch), started at being addressed. His eyebrows, which had been waggling suggestively at Morgana seconds before, had morphed into a furrow of confusion at Merlin, like a bamboozled puppy. It was a look so reminiscent of the Gwaine in Camelot that Merlin felt his magic swirl with delight inside him. All the boy needed was an apple to chomp on and a dashing bit of stubble and he would be all set.

“Um… sorry, sir, haven’t a clue.” Gwaine grinned charmingly, cheerfully confident in his ignorance. He even raised his hands up in an affable shrug. “I reckon it was someone giant and angry?”

“Well, I can’t find fault in that answer,” Merlin conceded, amazed at how Gwaine still managed to sneakily wrangle his way out of a bad situation. It made Merlin shake his head with a smile, despite himself. He had missed this rogue an obscene amount. “But a name would be ideal. Arthur? How about you? Can you tell me who the leading figure in the Giant Wars was?”

Arthur shrugged indolently in his chair, reminding Merlin of the easy grace he used to exude when he used to sprawl with boredom on his throne.

“Some dead overgrown lug that no one cares about anymore?” he replied smartly, making his group of friends snigger. Merlin frowned at Percy, who he had expected better from, and was pleased when the boy went blotchy under his gaze and ducked his head back to his work. 

Merlin put his hands on his hips. This boy was honestly trying his last nerve. It was achingly familiar.

“Arthur Pendragon, stay after class.”

Again, Arthur looked surprised. Merlin found it incredible how Uther could over-discipline everyone but his own son.

Arthur seemed to prove his point because the moment the class had finished and the other students had rushed off to lunch, Arthur had stomped up to Merlin with a frown and haughtily declared,

“You can’t keep me here, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

His pointy nose was in the air, so imperious and ridiculous that Merlin let out a scoff before he could stop himself.

As weak as he was for this boy, Merlin wasn’t one to put up with cheek from a student. Were he disguised as Dragoon right now, Merlin would have no doubt that he would be trying to turn Arthur into a toad. Dolma, on the other hand, would have tried to grab him by the ear and douse him with holy water to chase the demon out of him.

Merlin, being the calmest of his identities, simply crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against his desk and stared him down, his expression utterly unmoved. 

Merlin had faced off against dragons, had fought manticores and had even had to wrestle a pint of firewhiskey away from Myron Wagtail of the Weird Sisters when he had got far too drunk at Harry Potter’s wedding. Merlin knew how to handle deadly foes.

Arthur, who had puffed his small self up to look as intimidating as he could, deflated a little when he saw how bored Merlin looked. Pursing his lips, he wore a pout that could have put the covers of _Witch Weekly_ to shame.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” Arthur demanded, his voice almost a whine. “Everyone else is.”

“I don’t see why, you’re like two feet tall,” Merlin replied with a shrug.

“My family is _royalty_ ," Arthur said, his tone so scathing that Merlin felt sort of insulted just being on the receiving end of it. "I’m the prince. I’m going to be king one day."

“Good for you,” Merlin replied, genuinely meaning it more than Arthur could ever realise. “It’s not going to stop me from calling you out when you act like a brat, though. And it’s not going to stop me from giving you another series of detentions. So, congratulations, Mr Pendragon, you have the great fortune of spending every weekend until Christmas with Professor Flitwick. He’s excellent company. I only hope you take advantage of the opportunity to ask him about his coin collection.” 

Arthur spluttered with a righteous sort of indignation. Merlin tried not to find it adorable but knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“You can’t do that!” 

“Why not? Because of who you are? Because you're going to end up on my money one day?” Merlin snorted. “What a load of rubbish. I don’t believe in special treatment. You need someone to tell you when you’re a brat. Obviously they haven’t, which is why you’re such a little monster now.”

Arthur reared back, looking like he had been slapped. As a person who had clearly never been slapped before, he looked a little cross-eyed and very lost, as though he had no idea what to do or say in response. Opening his mouth, he closed it again, a perplexed look on his face. 

“You know, you really don’t talk like a teacher," Arthur said before narrowing his eyes. "And you practically look our age. What are your credentials?"

"Oh, I've been teaching a lot longer than you'd think," Merlin said with an ironic smile. "Let’s just say I’m older than I look."

"Like thirty? You don’t look thirty. Thirty is really old."

Merlin just huffed out a laugh.

"You don't count, you think thirteen is old. Anyway, didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to ask someone their age? One of your nannies or butlers or your hunting instructors?"

Arthur scowled violently. If it was any fiercer, Merlin was sure he would have stared a hole straight through Merlin’s skull.

Before he could open his mouth and let out what would no doubt be a scathing retort, however, a voice from a nearby portrait shrieked out,

"My liege!"

It was Sir Cadogan, who had rudely barged himself into one of the historical paintings in the classroom and began kneeling. This painting depicted the infamous clash between David and Goliath, with both fighters pausing mid-brawl to look in befuddlement at the little knight in the middle of their battlefield who kept awkwardly toppling over under the weight of his armour. 

Arthur blinked at him like he was mad.

"Er… Professor Emrys?” he said, turning to look at Merlin. Arthur really must have been thrown because Merlin had never heard him sound so respectful.

Before Merlin could even begin to explain, Cadogan lifted up his helm and cheerfully hollered away.

“It really is you, your majesty! At last you’ve returned! And, may I say, just as majestic looking as before! A little shorter, I must concede, but you’ll grow into your armour no doubt! And who hasn’t had a bout of spattergroit from time to time?” 

“I don’t have spattergroit!” Arthur bellowed, mortified enough to cover the pimple on his chin with one hand, as though just hiding it would make everyone forget about it.

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. One blessing of immortality was that he never had to worry about acne again. The first time had been bad enough. 

"You’ll have to mind Sir Cadogan, Arthur,” Merlin said with a pointed look at the knight. “He seems to have mistaken you for someone else."

Sir Cadogan, proving that cunning flew like a quaffle over his head, looked mortally offended.

"Indeed I have not!" he spluttered with outrage. "My king, I have waited so many years for your return. It is such an honour to finally serve you again!”

Arthur let out a breath of annoyance, huffing so hard that a blond strand of hair whooshed away from his eyes.

“This is another round table thing, isn’t it? Seriously, if one more person calls me the reincarnation of King bloody Arthur again I’m going to scream.”

Merlin almost gaped harder than Cadogan at Arthur’s words.

“I… I suppose you’ve heard that rumour then?” he tried to say delicately, his mouth going dry. He knew some people had come to that conclusion but Merlin hadn’t realised that word had reached Arthur himself.

“Have I heard it? Gee, I don’t know, only every day for my entire life!” For someone as small as he was, Arthur certainly had a set of lungs on him. It no doubt carried over from his previous life because back then, Merlin could always hear Arthur bellowing for him from every corner in Camelot. “I know my mum believed it. Why else would she curse me with his stupid name?! And every bloody seer who comes near me keep harping on about it, smelling like frog guts and grabbing my face, calling me some bloody once and forever king-“

“Future king,” Merlin corrected, despite himself.

Arthur, being Arthur, ignored him.

“And all these bloody prophecies that say some ugly old codger is my soulmate-!”

“I say there, he has a marvelous personality!” Cadogan puffed up in Merlin’s defence before winking at Merlin, failing at subtlety like he usually did. Merlin dropped his head in his hands and groaned. 

“Why can’t I just be me?!” Arthur implored, almost sounding like he was going to cry. “Why can’t I be like everyone else?!”

Merlin stared at Arthur, not knowing what to say.

He sounded so much like Merlin had, when he had first gone to Gaius back in Camelot. A huge burden on his shoulders that he just wanted to give back. 

Arthur was just a child, a child with responsibilities and prophecies declaring his future and everyone in the country -- in the _world_ \-- was watching his every move, his every mistake.

Merlin looked at him closely, suddenly seeing all the invisible pressure that was weighing down on his shoulders. No wonder he was a contrary little shit. He was trying to control the only things that he could. 

Merlin swallowed hard.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” he offered, feeling awkward as arse asking. His tone was clearly not as comforting as it should have been because Arthur gave him a pretty substantial glare that would have probably killed a lesser man.

“Can I go now, _sir_?” he said instead, killing the conversation in its tracks. How that boy managed to make a title sound like an offensive slur, Merlin would never know. It was almost a skill.

Sighing heavily, Merlin had a funny feeling this would be the first of many talks like this.

“Yes, Arthur, you may leave.” 

Arthur gathered up his things, still frowning up a storm as he headed towards the door. Watching him go, Merlin opened his mouth, suddenly compelled to have one more word with him. Arthur had been gone for so long… Merlin felt weak for admitting it but he just wanted a little bit more time with him. “Oh and Arthur?” The boy turned around huffily, his blue eyes irritable and his hands clenched.

Merlin had never been so happy to see someone glare at him hatefully in his life. 

Swallowing down the emotion rising up in him, Merlin just nodded.

“I’m here to talk if you need me.”

“I won’t,” Arthur said sharply. Glowering, he then stomped away, leaving Merlin to stare after his retreating back. Merlin continued to watch, even when he was long gone, trying to prolong the moment as long as he could.

Arthur was back and as tiresome as ever. 

And, despite it all, Merlin was too happy to have him back to care.

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Quidditch, Merlin soon came to realise in the coming months, was Arthur's modern equivalent to tourneys. 

In other words, he was absolutely brilliant at it. 

Like Harry Potter before him, Arthur had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his first year and was the sole reason for their recent unbeaten streak. His skill on a broom was indisputable, even by Merlin, who could barely make it a foot in the air on a broomstick before ultimately veering into the nearest ditch. Arthur, in contrast, had that same grace and co-ordination that he had in his previous life, the one that had won him every tournament in the seven kingdoms. 

It had made Merlin's heart ache with nostalgia as he watched Arthur during tryouts, his small face round and determined as he clutched at a broom more than double his size and pursed his lips with that endearing resolve he always wore when he was going into battle. 

Arthur being Arthur, however, was still rubbish academically.

Which is how Merlin found himself being asked by McGonagall herself to tutor the boy so he could stay on the team, something Madam Hooch had also greatly approved of.

Unfortunately for Merlin, Arthur was not as excited about this arrangement as everyone else was.

“They can’t do this!” Arthur cried out for what had to be the fifth time that minute.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, Merlin wondered if he could lobotomise himself like this. It was a hopeful thought.

“Arthur,” he said, trying to sound patient although the frequent twitch in his eye was giving him away, “you know you can’t be in the Quidditch team unless you pass all your subjects.”

“But I don’t want to go!” Arthur said like the stubborn broken record he was, arms crossed over his chest like the tallest toddler in the playground. 

“Fine, then you won’t play Quidditch and you’ll fail all your exams and will end up old and fat with no prospects and a bad attitude.”

Arthur glared balefully at Merlin. 

"I'm going to be king," he reminded him.

"Doesn't stop you from being old and fat,” Merlin insisted. “Do you remember Henry VIII?"

"He's my relative, I know more about him than you do," Arthur said snootily. 

Merlin, who had been to four of Henry's weddings and had queasily watched at least two wives being beheaded, begged to differ. He still couldn't look at a cheese slicer in action without feeling a little ill.

He didn't say this aloud, however. Instead, he lifted his wand to float over a series of books from his bookshelf, with the last book shimmying onto the table with an exotic sort of body roll. It was clearly a bit of an exhibitionist.

“The sooner we do this, Arthur, the sooner you can get back to practise,” Merlin said, trying to sound as genial and reasonable as possible. For some reason, this seemed to work because Arthur glared at him for only a moment before resignedly throwing down his bag loudly onto the desk. Collapsing into the chair opposite, Arthur then crossed his arms and brashly said, 

"Fine, but can we hurry this up? I have an etiquette lesson at two then a public appearance to make at Gringotts. Basically, I have far more important things to be doing than wasting my time here."

Arthur was wearing sunglasses, a bored expression and had untucked his shirt and loosened his tie as was, apparently, the fashion of this era. Merlin, who still hadn't quite mastered looking like he hadn't just rolled out of bed even after fifteen hundred years, still couldn't understand any of it. Any world where he was the height of fashion was a frightening place to be.

Arthur then yawned loudly.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. He shouldn't really have been surprised that Arthur was such a hellion in this incarnation. It was as hard-coded into his DNA as his blond hair and good coordination skills.

“Well, Mr Pendragon, you definitely need etiquette lessons, I can’t deny that,” Merlin returned, smiling pleasantly as he folded his hands in front of him. He was torn between wanting to wallop Arthur for being an insufferable little shit and just throwing his arms around him and sobbing because he had missed him so damn much. Somehow, he restrained himself. “But, you’re right, of course. You should leave. This is obviously a waste of both of our time.” 

Arthur looked like someone had hit him with a stunning spell.

“It is?” he said, looking hopeful.

“Of course” Merlin said with affability, holding out his hands in a benevolent gesture. “I mean, you’ll never get back onto the Quidditch team when I inform Madam Hooch about this. But not to worry, I'm sure your dreams of captaining the Gryffindor team and winning the Quidditch cup will work out if you're not on the team. Oh, wait."

Arthur sulked, angry enough to fiercely whip off his sunglasses. Merlin counted this as a small win.

"I don't need to be on the team," the boy said, looking down his nose at Merlin, which was impressive as he came up to his shoulder and was sitting down.

"I’m sure you don’t," Merlin continued, falsely pleasant, "and I'm also sure that watching your friends get into the team and win all the glory for Gryffindor won't bother you at all."

Arthur's skin went a mottled red. Merlin awarded himself another point.

"Now," said Merlin brightly in the face of Arthur's glare as he pulled out a roll of parchment. "Let's talk about where you are having problems. From this list, it looks like the subjects your marks are suffering in most are Potions, Herbology and..." Merlin raised his eyebrows and tried not to laugh at the irony as he said, "... Muggle Studies. Today, we're going to start with Herbology. I've built up a lesson plan with Professor Longbottom about the plants that will be covered in your exams. We're going to eventually move onto studying the healing properties of mandrakes but first we're going to start with your practical assignment, which will involve looking after this little guy for a month." Placing the box by his feet carefully onto the table, Merlin pulled out a strange, pulsating plant with a flourish and grandly said, "Arthur, meet your project, the grand mimbulus mimbletonia.”

"Ugh, what in the hell is that?" Arthur gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve as he pulled a face. "It reeks."

"Hey now, that's not a nice way to talk about Bob," Merlin said, offended on behalf of the plant as he stroked at one of the many bulbous pods it was made up of. Bob squirmed happily in response. "You should be honoured. He once belonged to Professor Longbottom himself. In any case, it's not his fault he secretes a smelly liquid like Stinksap. It's how he was grown. It's how he defends himself and those he loves."

"Bob?" came Arthur's muffled voice from behind his sleeve with horror. "You named your plant Bob?"

"Actually, I named _your_ plant Bob," Merlin corrected him before clapping his hands and saying, "Oh! He seems to like you!" when one of Bob's pulsing boils spat at Arthur's elbow with a noise that sounded like someone blowing a wet raspberry.

"That's disgusting! I am not taking that back to my room," Arthur said, nose in the air. "I'd rather fail."

"Then you'll fail." Merlin shrugged. "It's not our problem. It's not like Bob and I don't have better things to do. In fact, we might go and watch Quidditch practice. Bob likes organised sports. And he was just telling me how much he prefers Valiant as a seeker. He's like a bird in the air, isn't he, Bob?"

"No, he isn't!" Arthur suddenly cut in, briefly pointing an accusatory finger at Bob before pausing, remembering the plant hadn't actually said it and turning to glower at Merlin instead. "Valiant's technique is completely wrong, he doesn't even sit on the broom properly! And no one in the team likes him! We'll never win with him around."

"That sounds like a terrible shame," Merlin said. "If only there was some possible and relatively easy way you could return." Merlin then unsubtly pushed Bob towards Arthur. The plant was wriggling particularly vigorously, as though trying to entice Arthur to pick him up.

Arthur pulled a face. Merlin knew he had him.

"Ugh, fine! Give him here, you nutter." Arthur finally relented with a scowl. "Just stop talking."

"That's Professor Nutter to you." Merlin said, cheerfully handing the plant over. When the plant crooned at Arthur affectionately, Merlin beamed. 

"See," he said, feeling pleased when Bob leaned happily towards Arthur for a stroke. "I told you he likes you."

"Yeah, well he's still ugly," Arthur said, leaning away and pointedly ignoring the sad droop to Bob's appendages. "How long do I have to keep it anyway?"

"Let's say a month."

"A month?!" Arthur wailed. "But it'll stink up my room."

"I'm sure your roommates will understand," Merlin said. He had smelled Gwaine’s socks, after all. If anything could have put Merlin down permanently, it was that stench. "Which reminds me, you should really sing to him at night. He especially likes the Weird Sisters and ABBA. Dancing Queen is a particular favourite."

"You're moving your mouth, Professor, but I don’t understand a word you're saying," Arthur said dryly, in the same tone that Arthur used to use on Merlin whenever he had forgotten his chores. 

It made Merlin grin fondly.

"Cheeky," he said with a bright smile, "but we're not finished yet." 

Merlin then flicked his wand and made the large textbook between them flip to a specific page.

"Now," he said brightly, rubbing his hands together with cruel delight as the book fluttered persistently in front of Arthur like a particularly excitable butterfly. "Let's talk about animal fertiliser. 'Chapter 1: The Magical Properties of Hippogriff Dung'."

If Arthur's rolling eyes didn't help improve Merlin's mood, Arthur's loud groan of despair and his face-plant into the table definitely did.

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After a few months of having Arthur back, Merlin honestly believed that looking after this incarnation of Arthur was going to be much easier than dealing with the last.

Yes, the first-year was a pain but it was a welcome change from the constant danger Merlin had to constantly save Arthur from back in Camelot.

Back then, something had tried to murder Arthur every other day. From Sidhe princesses with a penchant for drowning to hangry griffins looking for a few dozen knights for a snack, Merlin had no idea how he hadn’t collapsed from sheer exhaustion trying to keep the idiot alive.

Getting a bit of lip from a snotty little rich lordling was honestly an improvement to almost getting his head blown off by the villain of the week. 

Merlin had even begun to relax into Arthur’s childish tantrums. There was something almost soothing about verbally sparring with him over tuition, with Merlin tsking over Arthur’s abysmal knowledge of muggles (“For the last time, they do _not_ have an extra toe.”) to the penmanship of Arthur’s essays (“Is this another language or did you have a conniption fit halfway through?”).

It was all pleasantly non-eventful and Merlin could have happily continued in this vein forever.

Which, of course, was when someone tried to murder Arthur right under Merlin’s nose. 

It had been their fourth tuition lesson and Arthur had been late, as he had been to all previous ones. Used to the delay, Merlin had been using the time to try and negotiate a treaty between his two favourite quills, which had taken to spontaneously sparring violently over which one would have the honour of being used. The last fight had been carnage, the quills duelling like sabres as feather wisps hovered in the air and pools of ink shone almost like a macabre crime-scene on every available surface like blood. 

Merlin had just settled on a rota that would please all parties involved when the door slammed open and Arthur stumbled in.

“Mr Pendragon,” Merlin said, sighing as his momentarily distraction caused the quills to start fighting again. Watching them roll off the table together in a flurry, Merlin gave it up as a lost cause and turned back to Arthur. “As punctual as always I see. Please, take a seat.”

But Arthur wasn’t taking a seat. He was pale and lines of veins were stark black under his cheeks. He was also shaking, his lips going blue.

Merlin caught him in his arms before he realised he had sprinted across the room.

“Arthur, oh my God, Arthur, what did you drink?”

Because it was poison. Merlin knew it. He had seen the signs. It felt like the Afanc all over again.

Someone had done this deliberately to him. Merlin’s first thought immediately focused on Morgana but, in this incarnation at least, she and Arthur had appeared to get on. She still rolled her eyes at him whenever she saw him and called him a blithering idiot as much as humanly possible but it was said with fondness, Merlin was sure of that.

No, he was sure it was someone else.

Which was when that very ‘someone else’ waltzed right into Merlin’s office to try and finish off the job.

Merlin’s eyes glowed gold and he had them pinned against the wall in less than a second. 

“Who are you?!” he demanded, his voice echoing off the walls of his office like thunder. He could feel himself swinging out of control, just as he always had whenever Arthur had been in a life-threatening situation. His magic was blazing out of him, encompassing him in a shield of light that was almost blinding.

The assassin appeared to agree because they winced under the glare of his magic, their face contorted in pain. 

And then Merlin truly recognised their face. He was so surprised, he staggered backwards, his magic releasing them from the wall so they fell to a heap onto the floor.

“Mary Collins?” he said, his voice disbelieving. 

He had barely been a boy when he had first seen her, a mother screaming out for the loss of her executed son. Merlin still remembered her cries of anguish, the pain and sadness of it ringing in his head for days afterwards.

The woman, who looked as wrinkled and full of emotion as she had back then, stared at Merlin in surprise. The lines of her face somehow looked even harsher, as though they had been cut into her skin with a blade.

“How did you-“

“You once took on the shape of a noblewoman called Lady Helen of Mora, didn't you?” Merlin said, still feeling overwhelmed as he took in her appearance. She looked exactly the same. “You lost a son. Uther took him from you.”

At the mention of her son, Mary Collins blinked. She then seemed to look at Merlin closely, peering into his eyes to find something. Whatever it was, she had clearly found it because she soon let in a struggling inhale before breathing out. 

“You’re _Emrys_.” She murmured his name like a prayer. 

She then dropped to her knees. Merlin immediately felt awkward. He always hated it when the druids fangirled, especially when they were so old he could literally hear their limbs straining with their reverential bows. He hoped Mary would be able to get up again and wasn’t stuck like the last Druid that had tried to prostrate at his feet.

“Er yes, hello,” he said, waving a little, not sure what else to do. “Please get up. I can hear your bones creaking.”

“You’re Emrys the immortal,” Mary continued with reverence, ignoring Merlin to continue bowing. “Magic Himself.” 

“And Arthur here is the Once and Future king,” Merlin said, moving back towards where Arthur was rapidly losing consciousness. 

“This brat is not a friend to my kind, Emrys,” Mary spat, straightening up from her bow to sneer. “His father is sucking the land dry. His son will be the same.”

“He is not his father. I promise you that,” Merlin protested virulently. “Arthur will be the one to bring back magic. Yes, he’s currently a brat and I frankly want to tear my hair out half the time over his sass but I _know_ him. I know his heart. I have faith in what he’ll become. You must know the prophecy. Tell me how to save him.”

“Prophecies have been misleading, Emrys,” she said. “How can I believe he won’t be worse?”

“Because he has me to guide him. He is made of my magic. He is one of us. Have faith in me.”

Mary was silent for a moment, looking down at Arthur as he struggled to breathe. 

“You are bound to him, aren’t you?” she asked softly. “I can feel the poison stretching over your bond. Infecting you. As immortal as you are, his death may be the only thing that brings about your own.”

“Then _help_ me,” Merlin said fiercely, ready to pull out his own hair in frustration. “Please, I don't have much time!”

But she shook her head. Merlin was a hair away from jumping to his feet and blasting her into a million pieces when she said,

“You are the only one that can save him, Emrys. You have to use your bond to heal him,”

“How do I do that?” Merlin asked, flummoxed. He looked down at Arthur in panic. He was so pale.

“You’ve healed yourself in the past, haven’t you?” Mary said, like it was that simple. “You will know, Emrys.”

“That was instinctual, I didn’t need to incant a spell or think about it!” he argued.

“Then don’t think, just do it,” she said, sounding like one of the motivational posters Trelawney used to keep in her office. “You have to believe you can do it.”

“Oh bollocks,” Merlin said nervously but he placed his hands on Arthur’s chest anyway, briefly panicking when his heartbeat barely pulsed against his fingers. 

Closing his eyes, Merlin breathed in sharply through his nose. 

_Stay with me_ , he whispered through his magic, feeling it shimmer inside and around him. _Arthur, don’t leave me again._

Arthur’s magic, weak as it was, seemed to respond back to him. He could feel it reaching out, like a drowning man grasping for help. Merlin held on as tightly as he could, feeling the poison dragging him in as well, as though it was a quicksand, pulling them both under. 

He could taste the blackness of it in the back of his throat. He was drowning in it, suffocating and Arthur was sinking with him. 

“You have to believe!” he could distantly hear Mary say. She sounded like she was miles away, screaming at him from a desert island far, far away.

 _Arthur,_ he screamed in his head, his grasp momentarily slipping. For a moment he was clutching at nothing but coarse sand. He was losing him. He had lost him. 

And then Arthur reached out and pulled Merlin up with him. 

Merlin let out a wheezing exhale, as though he had been underwater for hours, his fingers back on dry land, the cold stone of his office floor nipping at his palms.

Arthur had also let out a laboured breath, colour returning to his cheeks. Weakly, Merlin grasped at his face, relief flooding through him as the black veins that had marked Arthur's cheeks slowly disappeared. The poison had seeped itself out of him. 

Merlin would have cheered in celebration but he was too busy collapsing against the nearest wall and trying not to faint.

“Merlin!” a familiar clanking of armour sounded from the frame closest to Merlin. It was Sir Cadogan, red faced and puffed out. He was wheezing, holding onto his vambraced knees to keep himself steady. “Godric saw what happened and called Gaius - he’s on their way!” Sir Cadogan then noticed Arthur before looking up at Mary and clumsily pulling out his sword. “You knave! You absolute curr! You will pay for what you have done to my king!”

“Not now, Cadogan,” Merlin said weakly, his head already pounding. He then turned his bleary eyes back to Mary, who was staring at him like he was the second coming. “You need to go.”

“What?”

“Enough of your kind have already died, I won’t take any more magic from the land. Go to the forbidden forest. There you’ll find a dragon called Kilgharrah. He will guide you to safety.”

“You are letting me go?” Mary asked, a stunned look on her face.

“I am magic,” Merlin replied, too tired to even lift his head. A loyal wooden stool sidled over to him to offer him support, which Merlin gratefully accepted, leaning into it and patting it on its cushioned seat in thanks. “Killing you would be like killing a part of myself. Now go.”

Mary pressed her lips together, her eyes shining. For some reason, it made her look years younger, as though a burden had finally lifted off her.

“I won’t forget this, Emrys,” she choked out with passion. “I believe in the world you’re creating.”

“It’s not my world, it’s Arthur’s,” Merlin murmured, barely conscious as the cool leather cushion pressed against his temple. “Now go. I just… I just need to take a little nap.”

Merlin was out before he knew it.

━━━✦❘༻༺❘༻༺❘❘༻༺❘༻༺❘✦━━━

Opening his eyes to see Gaius and Arthur staring down at him was probably the best sight Merlin had woken up to in his life, even if they did both look pale and like they were about to cry.

Gaius in particular looked like he was a hair away from smacking him in the head. 

Merlin tried to smile winsomely. With half of his face still feeling numb, he had a feeling he looked mildly deranged.

“You saved me,” Arthur croaked, his eyes red and so young, his expression almost sweet. This of course, turned on a dime when he looked furious, placing his hands on his hips and reminding Merlin, strangely, of Molly Weasley. “I thought you were dying! You didn’t wake up for two days!” 

“Er, sorry? In my defense, I sort of was? Is this where I apologise for not croaking, your highness? Because honestly, I quite like breathing.” 

Arthur let out a hiccough of a noise, too traumatised to even come up with a rejoinder. Gaius patted him on the shoulder.

“I’m just glad everyone recovered,” Gaius said softly. “Arthur, your father should be arriving soon to pick you up. You better give Professor Emrys your gift now before he gets here.”

“Gift?” Merlin had said, still feeling a little muzzy-headed. “What’s that now?”

Arthur went such a dark shade of maroon that he could have been used as the new Gryffindor mascot. He then reached for a neatly packed box that had been sitting at Merlin’s bedside table and practically threw it at his head.

“Um, bye,” he said. “Thanks.” 

And then he scarpered off out the door, leaving Merlin very confused. 

Looking down at the silver box sitting on his chest, Merlin opened it up warily and spotted a small card, perched atop of colour-changing tissue paper.

Surprised, Merlin pulled out a note and read through it.

**_My father said I have to send you something for the tuition. And, you know, for saving my life and everything. So thanks, even though I still think you're a bad teacher._ **

**_Arthur_ **

Slightly tentative, Merlin opened the box, just readying himself for a Weasley prank to explode right in the face but when he pushed back the tissue paper to see a red neckerchief staring back at him, Merlin's hands shook. He hadn't worn one of these for years, for a good century at least. His professor's robes had pretty much consisted of his wardrobe for the past hundred years.

Merlin brushed his hands against the rich material, so much like the neckerchief he had worn to Gwen’s coronation.

Back then, he had stared in awe at the coronation outfit the servants had laid out on his bed, surprised when he not only recognised Arthur's favourite jacket but realised that it had been tailored and modified to fit him.

It was only after Arthur's death that Gwen had told him that Arthur had asked her himself to ensure the outfit fit Merlin perfectly.

Touching the neckerchief of the present, Merlin swallowed down the lump in his throat, suddenly overcome by both supreme happiness and heart-wrenching grief.

He then put it to the side and decided to wear it regularly when the next school year started up again. 


	10. Year Two: The Fainting Plague

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**2006**

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By his second year, Arthur was becoming less difficult. He was still a brat of epic proportions and arrogant to the point of indecency but the bullying and the backtalk had all but stopped. 

He had even built up a solid friendship group, one that Merlin wholly approved of. Once again, Gwen had become a calming, stabilising influence on him, being so inherently good that her kindness would rub off on Arthur whether he wanted it to or not. Arthur had also grown extremely close with his Quidditch team, what with Leon and Lancelot joining this year. 

Merlin had seen the three boys comparing brooms and play-fighting on the lawns by the Great Lake and felt nostalgia pang at his heart. Their Quidditch practises were so like the daily practise sessions Arthur had held for his knights back in Camelot that Merlin occasionally forgot they were using brooms, not swords. 

Arthur had also begun to really excel at Duelling Club, something practically unheard of for a second year. Merlin had heard from Professor Flitwick himself how impressive he was, that Arthur had excellent instincts for a student so young.

After his volatile first year, it looked as though the second would be calmer. Arthur really had grown so much in a year, and not just in height. Merlin couldn’t stop himself being proud for all the tea in Madam Puddifoot’s.  
  


“I see you’ve stopped picking on Morris,” Merlin commented during one of their tuition sessions as he corrected Arthur's parchment with red ink. As he eyed the messy slant of Arthur's writing, Merlin found it strangely comforting that he had the exact same chicken-scratch for penmanship as he had in Camelot. “I’d tell you I’m proud of you, but you’ll probably go back to bothering him just to spite me.”

Arthur had blushed but ducked his head, shrugging.

“He’s boring,” he tried to say like he didn’t care.

Merlin had a mad urge to ruffle Arthur's hair but experience had taught him that only ended with him in a headlock and extra chores - and that was when Arthur had been an adult. God only knew what a teenage Arthur would do.

“How’s Bob doing? You haven’t killed the poor thing yet have you? Professor Longbottom would be heartbroken. He’s had him since he was a student here himself.”

Giving Merlin a glare, Arthur reached into his bag to pull out the pulsating plant, which actually seemed to look remarkably healthy. It even moved its bulbous limbs towards Arthur, crooning like a loyal pet turning towards their master. It was almost adorable. Merlin would have pet him if he wasn’t worried about being covered in Stinksap.

“Oh Arthur, I do think you’ve made a friend for life,” Merlin remarked. Bob spat out a bit of pus in what Merlin assumed was hearty agreement.

Arthur looked mildly revolted by the entire affair.

“Ugh, I wish you’d stop doing that,” he muttered at the plant irritably. Bob’s boils drooped sadly in response. Rolling his eyes, Arthur let out a heavy, put-upon sigh before running a finger down the plant’s spine. Bob immediately perked up, crooning at Arthur like a plant in love. “Clingy pusbag,” he grumbled but he sounded almost fond. Merlin had to duck his head to hide his smile. 

“So it appears as though the Bob experiment has been a success. Professor Sprout tells me your Herbology results are steadily improving,” Merlin remarked, studying the rolls of parchment in front of him. He then frowned. “Your Muggle Studies results on the other hand…”

“Oh come on, Professor Emrys, I had a Quidditch game to train for,” Arthur argued, back to being impertinent as he rolled his eyes and leaned his elbow languidly on the back of his chair. “It was only about some random muggle plane crash. What does it even matter?”

“Arthur, that plane crash led to the systematic slaughter of nearly a million people in a hundred days. Did you even finish the chapter?”

Arthur looked a little abashed. He clearly hadn’t.

Merlin sighed. He still had so much to learn.

“That’s the thing about history, Arthur,” he said gently. Closing the book with a soft thump, Merlin looked Arthur straight in the eye, willing him to properly listen to his words. “Whether it’s muggle history or wizarding history - it _means_ something. These aren’t just numbers and names on a page, these are real people, real lives. Understanding the darkness of history is the surest way for you to understand how not to repeat it. That plane being shot down didn’t just signify the death of a statesman. It was an event that gave the government and the military an excuse to kill the ‘other’. And that’s the thing, Arthur, _anyone_ can be the ‘other’, purely because someone in power decrees it and spins a compelling enough tale. People have been persecuted from the beginning of time for just being themselves, for being born different.”

Merlin paused, hoping the emotion in his voice didn’t give him away.

“In this life, you were born a prince in a wealthy country with all the many privileges you have. You even have magic. You’re at the top of the food chain. However, it’s what you do with this platform that will reveal who you truly are.”

“And who am I?” Arthur asked, looking wide-eyed, genuinely asking. Even Bob had turned towards Merlin with a curious coo. Merlin smiled at them both.

“You’re going to be the greatest king that ever was, of course,” Merlin said, no doubt in his voice. Arthur looked a little stunned, as though surprised Merlin had so much faith in him. It made Merlin grin at him before going back to the book and opening it at the right page. “Now, let’s return to Muggle Studies again. What Arthur, do you think is the function of a rubber duck?”

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As Arthur’s grades improved, so did his attitude. Muggle Studies and Arithmancy were still his biggest weaknesses, but instead of just complaining about them as he was wont to do last year, this year Arthur actively tried to improve himself. Merlin knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. Arthur had always been tenacious, from training to hunting. It made sense that, when he truly applied himself, he generally succeeded.

As such, even his squabbles and arguments had lessened. Morris had somehow turned into one of Arthur’s entourage, although the boy seemed like more of a servant than a true friend. The way he tailed after Arthur, looking bored as he tried to keep up, reminded Merlin so much of himself that he was tempted to give Morris a neckerchief and cast Engorgio on his ears.

Even Morgana seemed to be settling in nicely. Merlin watched her closely, looking for nightmares or moodiness but other than the occasional sleeplessness, she was fine. She even had dreamless sleeping draughts prepared for when she truly needed them.

“She’s a seer again, isn’t she?” Merlin asked Gaius. “Like she was at Camelot?”

Gaius, who had been working diligently on creating a poultice for a student who had somehow managed to fall into her own cauldron, nodded simply. 

”Yes, her mother has already been informed. Sybil Trelawney is having private lessons with her to help her hone her gifts. The woman may seem like a batty fraud but she really is one of the few people who truly understand her gifts.”

Merlin watched Morgana out the window, where she was playing Gobstones in the courtyard with Guinevere. Throwing back her head, she laughed when the water hit an outraged Elyan right in the eye. Merlin had genuinely never seen her look happier.

“She’s really at peace this time, isn’t she?” he asked softly, not taking his eyes off her. Every time he looked at her, all he could see were his own failings. He was beginning to believe that this time might be different.

All in all, everything seemed calm.

And then Arthur got into a fistfight in the middle of the corridors and had to be hauled off an angry and spitting Valiant. Leon had been the one to bring Arthur into the Hospital Wing, nursing his own black eye. It was so like Leon, the most loyal of Arthur’s knights, to throw himself into the fracas the moment Arthur was in trouble.

As Gaius tended to their wounds, applying salve in the delicate way he always had, Merlin stood over his shoulder, his arms crossed as he glared at Arthur. He really had hoped he had grown out of throwing his fists at every problem he had.

Arthur seemed to know a lecture was coming because he immediately spoke over Merlin the moment he opened his mouth.

“If you’re going to yell at me, I really don’t want to hear it,” Arthur sniped, his swollen lip dripping a line of blood. “I already know you’re disappointed so let’s just skip that chat.”

“Let’s not,” Merlin responded heatedly. “I don’t even know what to say. I thought you had grown out of petty fighting. After all our progress! Why would you even hit Valiant for? I thought you were once friends."

"I am not friends with that back of a blast-ended skrewt!"

Merlin looked at Arthur closely. His chest was heaving and he was especially worked up. 

"Did Valiant say something to you?" Merlin asked in a gentler voice.

"I don't want to talk about it, sir."

"Arthur," Merlin said softly. "You can talk to me. I need to know what he said to you-"

"He was attacking a house elf, alright?!"

“A house elf?” Merlin responded, surprised. That was not what he expected to hear. “As in… tea-towel-wearing, food-preparing house elves?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur grumpily, wincing as Gaius pressed the poultice to his lip. “One of them came out of the kitchen with a tray of food and accidentally got in his way so the prat just kicked it. The elf went bouncing off the wall.”

“And then..?”

“So I kicked Valiant back.” Arthur then grinned his trademarked shit-eating grin, his teeth bloody. “He didn't like that.”

“Arthur...” Merlin said, so proud he could barely get his voice out. He should have been angrier because violence seldom helped matters but just the thought of Arthur -- the son of notorious bigot Uther Pendragon, his Once and Future clotpole -- fighting for the rights of oppressed creatures made Merlin’s heart sing.

He had always had faith in Arthur but once again he was seeing exactly why legends spoke of him the way they did.

“He also had a go at you.”

"Me?" said Merlin confused. “What do I have to do with anything?”

“He called you a beast lover, because of what you teach in your lessons. And he had a go at your ears but that’s not too surprising.”

“Hey, what's wrong with my ears?” Merlin asked, mildly offended.

Arthur gave him a look that clearly told him not to be such an oblivious idiot.

Merlin instinctively touched one of his ears, almost in consolation. The poor things had been getting the brunt of teasing for years. Personally, he thought they gave him character. His ears seemed to tingle in response. He liked to think that meant that they approved of his opinion. 

Merlin then looked at Arthur, wonderful, stubborn little Arthur with his arms crossed, his lip split and a scowl adorning his face. Not only had he been defending oppressed beings but he had also, madly enough, been defending Merlin's _honour_. Merlin didn't know whether to be touched or smack him on the head for being an impulsive idiot.

“I’m afraid we have to contact your father about this. We can’t have fighting on school grounds.” Arthur opened his mouth. “No matter how noble the cause,” Merlin cut across him, but his voice was gentle. If it was up to him, he would have awarded Arthur 100 points for defending the house elf.

Arthur looked mildly terrified by the thought of Uther being contacted. Merlin didn’t blame him, Merlin felt terrified for himself and he hadn't even done anything wrong. It was no doubt muscle memory from all the times Merlin had been put in the stocks to cover for Arthur. Even now, he could still remember the stench of congealed rotten tomatoes in his hair.

“It’ll be alright, Arthur,” Merlin said, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Of course it will, I’m not worried,” Arthur lied, worried out of his skin. He then looked back at Merlin and frowned. “You know, you do have magic, professor. You could do something about your ears if you want.”

“That’s rude. Here I thought you were defending them.”

Arthur just smiled like a little snothead. This smiling promptly stopped when he was summoned to the Headmistress’ office.

Minerva McGonagall sat up straight in her throne of a chair, the only person truly worthy of taking the mantle after Dumbledore. Her lips pursed, she looked furiously at the two abashed boys sitting on the other side of her desk. Merlin would have laughed at the terror on both Arthur‘s and Valiant’s faces if he wasn’t a little terrified of Minerva himself.

Merlin wasn’t sure what could make this situation more tense. Which of course, was when Uther Pendragon waltzed in like he owned the place, proving once again that he always knew how to make every situation ten times worse.

For the monarch of a country, Merlin felt like he saw far too much of Uther than he should have. He was beginning to think his tax galleons were being wasted.

“I want this boy expelled,” Uther demanded as soon as he entered McGonagall’s office, pointing at Valiant in that unrelenting way he always had. The boy looked like he was about to pass out. Merlin didn’t blame him as he unconsciously moved behind Minerva’s chair himself for protection. If there was one person on earth that he thought could be more terrifying than Uther, it was the Headmistress. Minerva proved Merlin right when she looked Uther straight in the eye, her face like steel. 

“Your majesty, please take a seat,” her voice brokering no dissent.

Uther, for once in his life, realised he had met his match and mulishly sat down, although he made enough of a song and dance about it to let everyone know he was unhappy about it.

“This boy attacked the Prince of England. I want him out of this school.” Uther was relentless, Merlin could give him that.

“If I expel Mister Valiant here, I’m afraid Arthur will also have to go,” Minerva said, completely unphased by him. Merlin stared at her like she was a goddess. “Witnesses tell me Arthur threw the first punch.”

“Kick,” Arthur retorted, fiercely proud. Merlin wanted to wallop the idiot.

“See, he admitted it!” Valiant piped up although his words sounded mangled through his swollen lip.

“You hold your tongue, boy!” Uther barked and Valiant squeaked and literally did so, sticking his tongue out so his fingers could firmly clamp down on it.

Merlin rubbed his eyes.

“Mister Valiant, please let go of that, that’s unhygienic,” he said before turning to McGonagall. “I believe a house elf was the reason for the altercation, Headmistress. I asked her to tell her side of the story. Can I call her in?”

“ _A house elf_ ,” Uther sneered over Merlin. “Why on earth would the word of a house elf be worth anything?”

Merlin clenched his jaw so tightly he was sure he heard a molar crunch.

McGonagall, proving she deserved that pedestal Merlin put her on, raised an eyebrow so curt it could have killed a man.

“That house-elf, your majesty, is the only witness that can help your son’s case,” she said and Merlin was amazed how effortlessly she managed to make ‘your majesty’ sound like ‘you blithering idiot’. “I suggest you hear her out. Professor Emrys,” here she turned back to Merlin, “could you kindly let Winky in?”

Winky the house-elf had come a long way since Merlin had first met her. Back then, she had been mainly interested in sitting by the fireplace, wailing about Barty Crouch and getting sloshed on Butterbeer. As someone who had suffered his fair share of heartbreak, Merlin understood her depression better than most so he had always given her a bit of a pass.

Since then, she had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts and had become a key member of the kitchen staff. She was still a bit of a nervous wreck, however, so when she walked in, her huge brown eyes looked scared, especially when she was faced with Uther’s impressive sneer.

She also appeared to be limping slightly. McGonagall looked cool but Merlin could see the quiet fury behind her spectacles as she watched the house elf hobble.

“Thank you for coming, Winky, please take a seat,” McGonagall insisted. Uther let out a scoff, as though the very thought of giving the creature common courtesy was abhorrent to him. McGonagall flatly ignored him. “Now, Winky, know that you’re in no trouble here. We would just like to hear from you what happened today.”

“Winky was just going to the kitchens, Headmistress. Winky is a good elf!” said Winky, shaking in her seat, her bat-like ears quivering on either side of her head. She looked like she was about to cry.

How Uther managed to look even more irritable was frankly a feat to Merlin. The man obviously had infinite reserves of anger.

“Must we hear this blathering?” he asked, both cold and disinterested in equal measure. His cruelty would almost be impressive if it wasn’t so galling.

Producing one of softest looks that Merlin had ever seen on her usually stern face, Professor McGonagall turned back to Winky.

“Please continue.”

Winky looked around the room, still terrified by everything around her. Even the plant pot in the corner made her tremble, as though it would open up invisible jaws and gobble her up whole. Considering that the venomous tentaculars in the greenhouses often tried to eat house-elves, students and one memorable time, a visiting board member, Merlin thought her fears were well warranted.

And then Winky’s terror suddenly abated, her teary eyes falling on Arthur. The look on her face changed so fast from terror to pure adoration that it was incredible no magic had been involved. 

“Master Arthur is saving Winky, Headmistress,” she said through a bit of a hiccough, her huge watery eyes looking at Arthur like he was the second coming, which technically he sort of was. She then turned to look at Valiant and her demeanour had changed from victim to a woman spurned. Merlin was slightly dazzled by her bravery. He reminded himself to anonymously buy her a new frock and leave it in the kitchens. “Mister Valiant is being very naughty and is kicking us house-elves! Winky is not the first but Winky is being lucky, Winky has Master Arthur to care for her, Master Arthur is good and kind.”

Merlin had a moment when he seriously wondered if he would witness a house-elf drop to one knee and propose to a human. Arthur himself looked a little uncomfortable at the praise. Uther just looked at his son like he was mad. Acts of kindness were clearly beyond his comprehension. 

Merlin coughed through the awkwardness, before conjuring a tissue from the end of his wand and handing it to Winky gallantly, which she used to loudly blow her red, splotchy tomato-sized nose.

“Thank you, Winky,” McGonagall said kindly. “Given that evidence, I can say I’ve made my decision.”

“Well?!” Uther demanded. “What is it?”

‘It’ turned out to be detentions for them both, with Arthur getting substantially less than Valiant and also receiving less house points off. Valiant looked murderous about this but one look at McGonagall immediately quelled him. 

Even he wasn’t idiot enough to talk back to her. 

McGonagall then ushered the boys out before their next lesson started. Merlin witnessed an amusing but touching moment when Winky suddenly broke down and hugged at Arthur’s knees, making Arthur go pink and awkwardly pat her on the back with the finesse of someone who had never comforted anything before in his life.

Uther looked horrified.

He then snapped his head to turn to Merlin, as though blaming him for this.

Arthur, the traitor, sprinted out the door at his father’s distraction, briefly looking at Merlin with a face they said “Good luck!”. He even waved before scarpering. 

That little arse.

"So you’re, Emwards,” Uther said, staring at him up and down in a way that told Merlin he didn’t approve of even a millimetre of his existence. “You’re the reason my son bought that ugly abomination of a plant into my home?"

"Oh yes, Bob!” Merlin said cheerfully. “They’ve become fast friends. It’s all about Arthur learning about the responsibility of looking after another life!" Merlin’s smile stopped abruptly when Uther, who had obviously not had his morning coffee, began to twitch an annoyed eyeball in his direction. Merlin coughed and promptly checked his tone. Back in Camelot, Uther had banished people for less grevious crimes than aggravating him. "What I mean to say is that it's a good life lesson, your majesty. I suppose I could have given Arthur a niffler or pgymy puff instead of a flatulent plant but I didn't want to give him something that would need looking after. Plants have endurance. Also, the last time a niffler got let loose into a rich person's belongings, it went sort of mad from choice and made such a mess that we couldn't find it for a week. This is better. It should also help the Prince with his Herbology marks. Raising a plant gives one an understanding of them like nothing else."

"Hmm," said Uther, looking like he had only listened to half of what Merlin had said and had disagreed with the little he had. He obviously wasn't interested enough to call Merlin on it, however, because the king simply waved a hand and candidly said, "So Arthur tells me you were hard on him."

Merlin blinked. Arthur had talked about their lessons with Uther. Merlin's armpits, being nervous by nature, promptly wet themselves at this revelation

"Well, I- I wouldn't say I was 'hard' on him exactly..." Merlin defended weakly.

Uther raised a steely grey brow.

"He said you called him brat," he replied and Merlin felt himself fall into the beginnings of a panic attack when something that looked like amusement pulled at Uther's mouth. Merlin, who had rarely seen Uther smile and certainly never when he was looking directly at Merlin, reasoned that the lip quirk was probably a bout of gas. Or a mild stroke.

“That’s good. Arthur needs more of a firm hand.”

"So, you like me calling Arthur names, sir?" Merlin clarified because he could certainly do more of that. He was bad enough as it was. If he had Uther's blessing, he would be unbearable.

Uther sighed, sounding heavily burdened. The effect of this was lost slightly when he idly played with a ring that looked expensive enough to buy Australia.

"Humility isn't exactly my son's strong suit, Edwards."

"Emrys," Merlin corrected.

"Yes, yes, Emwards," Uther said flippantly. Merlin shrugged. It was close enough. For Uther, getting it half-right was downright perceptive. "In any case, I approve of you speaking plainly to him. Arthur needs honesty like that in his life. Everyone he knows is too busy trying to please him or impress him. He needs someone to ground him and keep his ego in check. He may be young but he is also a prince and has responsibilities. He will need to step up to the plate sooner than he may realise and he needs to be ready for that level of pressure. He is thirteen years old, after all."

At thirteen years old, Merlin's biggest accomplishment had been thieving one of old Mrs Simpson's dresses on a dare and then wearing it to the butcher’s while Will almost wet himself laughing. Even now, Merlin couldn't look at rough hemp without remembering the brush against his privates and wincing at the memory.

The thought of Arthur barely getting to live his childhood like Merlin had made Merlin suddenly ache with sympathy for him. It was no wonder Arthur acted up in class. Merlin would too if he didn't get the chance to let loose every now and again. It reminded Merlin of those rare days back in Camelot when Arthur would suddenly insist Merlin pack up their horses for an impromptu ride just so they could escape the confines of the castle. Arthur would lead on ahead, speeding along far faster on Hengroen than propriety dictated, his smile huge and carefree as his hair blew wildly in the wind. Sometimes, Merlin felt like Arthur could have kept on going, right through the forest and onto another life where there were no pressures or responsibilities but Arthur always seemed to pull back at the last minute and return to Camelot - and his duty - like a magnet.

It appeared some things just didn't change.

"I'll do everything I can for him, sir," Merlin said honestly, knowing it was true. Sometimes it worried him how little there was that he wouldn't do for Arthur.

"Good," Uther said, as though anything less was tantamount to treason.

Watching Uther leave, Merlin let out the breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

It made him pray no other surprises came up this year.

Unfortunately, his prayers were decidedly not answered.

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The first time Merlin had realised something was amiss was when George had passed out in his class.

Merlin had been re-enacting the 18th Century Goblin Rebellions, a subject which had always felt a little surreal since he had actually been there at the time, trying his hardest to talk Urg the Unclean down from decapitating a Ministry official. 

Moving swiftly around the classroom Merlin had just lifted his wand in triumph, ‘arresting’ infamous serial goblin killer Yardley Platt (played by a slightly bloodthirsty young Myror with precision accuracy) when he heard a thump of a body hit the floor.

“Professor!” Gwen had cried out, the first to reach George, her big eyes staring up at Merlin in fear. “I think he needs to go to the Hospital Wing.”

Gwen didn’t need to tell him twice. 

“Gaius! We need some help here!” Merlin called out the moment he rushed through the doors, George levitating like a corpse beside him.

Gaius had been tending to a couple of bamboozled Hufflepuff fourth years, who had had a midnight duel and had somehow managed to knock each other out in the process. The boys were still bickering over who the real victor was as Gaius rushed over to Merlin, his face so concerned that his eyebrow had almost leapt off his face entirely.

“What happened?” Gaius asked, helping Merlin lower George onto the closest bed with a levitation spell. He looked as pale as the bedsheets underneath him.

“He just passed out, Gaius. Without any reason. One minute he seemed lucid and well, the next he was crumpled on the floor.”

“Stand back and let me check,” Gaius said, still the authoritative healer as he lifted his wand to run it over George, checking his vitals. Merlin watched with fascination as sparks of blue light ran over George’s form like a cocoon, forming shapes and patterns around him that Merlin vaguely recognised. If there was one skill Merlin had honed over the years, it was healing. But even with hundreds of years of practise, he still didn’t take to it as naturally as Gaius.

The same Gaius who had suddenly lost all colour to his cheeks. Turning to Merlin, his eyes looked almost lost.

“His magic… it’s gone.”

“What?” Merlin responded, blinking. That couldn’t be possible.

“It could potentially be a Gean Canach, similar to the one that took your own powers back in Camelot but the last one was sighted centuries ago. In any case, you would have noticed one. And none of the other students saw one.”

“It’s hard to miss a giant face-hugging slug,” Merlin responded wryly, touching his own face at the horrific memory of having that slimy thing wrench his magic from him.

The implications of what Gaius just said then truly hit Merlin.

“His magic is gone,” Merlin said dully, turning to look at the boy who was sleeping like the dead. “This shouldn’t be possible, Gaius. In all my years, nothing like this has happened...”

Merlin then paused. Why didn’t he see it sooner?

“This is because of Uther,” he said, without a shadow of a doubt.

“Uther?”

“Uther, the Ministry, all of them. The creatures they’re killing. They are magic themselves. The more he kills them, the more he has been destroying magic. It’s an all out war on magic right now, it’s already been growing weaker, thinner. Even you must have noticed how much harder simple spells are for the first years.”

“Merlin, magic is infinite. It doesn't have a set reserve that depletes.”

“It didn’t,” Merlin agreed. “But when magic is systematically attacked like it is, why wouldn’t it retreat? Protect itself? You told me yourself that magic is a living, breathing thing. I can feel it wearing thin, Gaius. Most wizards aren’t made of magic but I am - magical creatures and beasts are. The more he kills them, the more he bleeds magic dry.”

“But why George, Merlin?” Gaius asked. “Why take _his_ magic?”

“I’m not sure,” Merlin said, honestly stumped. George was a good student and hard-working. He may have been prissy and still talked far too much about brass than healthy but he didn’t deserve this. If he was more vulnerable than the other students, Merlin would understand how his magic was easier to take but George was stronger than most of the others in his class. It made little sense why he was picked.

A sense of unease wrapped around Merlin’s insides like a snake, curling up at the pit of his stomach like a heavy weight.

He had a horrible feeling George wouldn’t be the last.

Unfortunately, he was right.

“How many more?” Gaius demanded as Flitwick and Sprout helped Merlin levitate the sleeping students in the following evening. 

“Three more,” Merlin said tensely, looking down at an unconscious Gwaine with a pang. When Merlin heard of Gwaine’s death in Camelot, his already inconsolable heart had long passed breaking point. Looking down to see him like this brought back memories Merlin really didn't want to drudge up again. “Gaius,” he said, his voice faltering. “We need to fix this before it takes out the entire school. Please tell me you have a theory.”

At that time, Gaius didn’t. A day, fifteen books and 26 sleepless hours later, however, Gaius lifted his head from a dusty looking page and looked at Merlin with a tired sort of triumph.

“I think I have it.”

“Oh thank Circe,” Merlin groaned, his neck stiff as he lifted himself off the giant spellbook he had been leaning his head against. The hours they had been riflying through books in the Hospital Wing were beginning to make Merlin hallucinate. “Please tell me you’ve figured it out. If I turn any more pages, my fingers will be more papercut than flesh.”

“I think my hunch is correct,” Gaius said, his eyes still meticulously studying the text in front of him. He then looked at the state of Merlin and frowned. “Merlin, stop drooling on the table and pay attention.”

Merlin tried his best. Shaking his head, Gaius gave him up as a lost cause and carried on.

“On the day George fainted, who was his partner in your class?”

“Arthur,” Merlin responded without hesitation. Arthur had rolled his eyes like a martyr and complained about it but he had eventually acquiesced, even when George had wrinkled his nose at Arthur’s messy workspace and tried to wipe down his side of the desk with a conjured hankie.

Gaius nodded grimly.

“I thought as much. I think this happened because he was in close proximity to Arthur.”

“What?”

“The prophecy talks of Arthur bringing back magic to the land, does it not? Considering that magic is currently being threatened, it might be seeking refuge towards him.”

“You’re telling me Arthur is inadvertently sucking up George’s magic?”

“Unknowingly, yes,”

Merlin shook his head in shock. He had never heard of anything like this. Magic just was. He was a creature of magic himself and had never felt anything from it but the reassurance that it was always there. The fact that magic itself was worried enough to retreat to Arthur meant things were much worse than Merlin realised.

“How can we stop it?”

“You need to convince it to stop.”

“Me? How on earth do I do that?”

“That I don’t know but I have a feeling you might be the only one who can.”

Merlin looked down at the beds of his students, his heart tightening as he looked at their pale, small expressions. Gwen in particular felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

There was only one person left that he could ask. Luckily, he only lived as far as the Forbidden Forest.

“Young warlock,” said Kilgharrah, standing back on his haunches grandly. “I’ve missed our picnics. You promised to give me meat.”

“Well, that sounds all sorts of wrong,” Merlin mused aloud, looking up at Kilgharrah’s huge scaly body. “Apologies, Kilgharrah, I promise you I’ll bring you a nice deer that died of natural causes next time to make up for it.”

“Hmm,” hummed Kilgharrah. Had he eyebrows, Merlin was very sure one would be quirked in mistrust. He was sort of glad Kilgarrah didn't, if he were honest with himself. Gaius’ eyebrows caused him enough guilt as it was. Noticing Merlin’s jittery mood, Kilgharrah tilted his head to the side, almost like an overgrown labrador. “Well, well, I see something is troubling you, young warlock. Colour me surprised. Let me take a wild guess - it’s Arthur. No need to confirm I’m right.”

“You’re so sassy, has anyone ever told you that?” Merlin returned, even though Kilgharrah totally had a point. “And actually, for once it’s not about Arthur.”

Kilgharrah gave him a look.

“Okay,” Merlin admitted, arms up in defeat, “technically, Arthur is involved but it’s not what you think-”

“Ah, so it’s not about the students losing their magic throughout the school?”

Merlin gawped at him.

“Seriously, how do you always do that? Are you a seer? You’re a seer, aren’t you? A big giant, flying fire-breathing psychic. You and Sybil should have slumber parties together where you foretell mad prophecies and braid each others’ hair.”

Kilgharrah just smiled his mysterious smile again, his sharp teeth gleaming as he purposefully didn’t admit to a single thing. He had always loved being enigmatic.

“To return magic back to those students,” he said instead, ignoring Merlin’s accusations, “you need to make an ancient promise, Merlin, one that is written in the fabric of the earth.” 

“A promise?” Merlin asked, confused. “Like an Unbreakable Vow?”

“In a sense,” Kilgharrah conceded, nodding his large head. “You are a child of magic. Right now, the magic that sired you is grieving, fearful and in pain. You need to help heal it. Only then will it have the strength to flourish as it once did. In dark times, a parent often needs the strength and reassurance of their seed.”

“Please don’t call me a seed,” Merlin said, feeling queasy. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

“You will need Arthur.”

“Arthur? Can we keep him out of it?”

“No, Merlin, you _can’t,_ ” Kilgharrah said, with a great deal of frustration, as though he was a hair away from putting Merlin over his knee. “He is the focus right now. To heal this wound, both of you are needed. There is a ritual that needs to be performed and it can only be done with Arthur’s blood.”

“His blood? Kilgharrah, I don’t like this-”

Kilgharrah rolled his eyes so hard, Merlin was amazed they didn’t pop out. There was something deeply surreal about having a grand dragon exasperated by your intelligence.

“Four pints should suffice. I’m sure it won’t kill the boy.”

“Four pints?!” Merlin yelped, grabbing his own arm at the thought. “Kilgharrah, that much blood loss could kill an adult! Are you mad?”

“I really don’t see what the problem here is,” Kilgharrah returned, almost looking bored as he stared down at his claws like someone superficially studying a manicure. “You’ll be there to heal him, even if he does fall unconscious. The boy will live and magic will be restored, albeit temporarily.”

“Temporarily? So you want me to drain Arthur like a vampire even though this won’t even fix things?”

“The only way this can be truly fixed is by bringing magic back,” Kilgharrah said plainly. “You need to make sure you save as many magical beings as you possibly can.”

“Magical creatures are being rounded up every day by the Ministry, Kilgharrah. Even if I could save some, where can they possibly hide?”

“This is a big forest, Merlin.”

“Yes. But what has that got to do with anything.”

Kilgharrah stared at him. Merlin stared back. Kilgharrah then heaved a heavy sigh.

“For someone who has lived as long as you have, I often wonder how none of that wisdom stuck.”

Merlin blinked at him for a few more seconds before it hit him.

“The forest?”

“Oh thank goodness, I thought it would take all night.”

“Call it old age,” Merlin shrugged. He felt he had earned a few senile moments considering how old he really was. “But seriously, do you really think we can hide them all here? What if the Ministry finds out?”

“Well, you’d better make sure they don’t,” Kilgharrah returned, offering no other help, which was pretty typical of him really. “In any case, they’ve never found me and I’ve been here for centuries.”

Merlin nodded slowly, the idea slowly forming in his mind like a painting coming to life. It was huge, ambitious and something he knew he had to do, for the good of everyone.

He looked back up at Kilgharrah. 

“Tell me the ritual I need to do. I promise I’ll save as many beings as I can but I need to help my students first.”

“Very well,” Kilgharrah agreed. “But first, pull out a piece of parchment and a quill. The ingredient list is long and we both know how useless you are at recollection.”

“Thanks, old friend,” Merlin said, his voice genuine. 

Kilgharrah blinked at him, as though a little surprised by the sentimentality, before a soft smile overtook his scaly mouth.

“My pleasure, young warlock. Now, you have to start with five pickled newt eyes...”

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Between himself and Gaius, Merlin had managed to acquire most of the ingredients on Kilgharrah’s list, some of which were so obscure that Merlin briefly wondered if Kilgharrah was just making this all up just to see how far he could push him.

“Did you manage to get the undiluted ink from the Giant Squid?” Gaius had enquired as a sopping wet Merlin squelched into the Hospital wing. Sucker marks all over his face and pains in places he really didn’t want to think about, Merlin nodded with a wince. How some people found tentacle-suffocation sexy he would never know.

“Please tell me that’s the last thing on the list,” Merlin practically begged, moving to sit down and then thinking better of it to stay on his feet.

“Other than Arthur’s blood, that should be it,” Gaius confirmed, taking inventory. “Have you talked to him yet?”

“I’m still trying to find a way to ask him,” Merlin confessed, pointing his wand at his dripping clothes to dry them. He let out a noise of contentment at the warmth that was now spreading through him, as though someone had blasted him with hot, dry steam.

“You’re going to have to ask him soon, Merlin, I’ve already had five more students come in while you were wrestling about with the Giant Squid.”

“It really wasn’t wrestling,” Merlin winced again, patting his poor bruised hip. “And in any case, how does someone broach something like that? ‘Hello, Arthur. Do you mind if we drain you almost to death so you can save your friends from certain doom?’ ”

“You need my blood?”

Merlin froze. He really hated it when this happened.

“Arthur Pendragon, what have I told you about eavesdropping?” Merlin said sternly, spinning around to put his hands on his hips. He had a feeling his look of intimidation wasn’t working much considering he still had blotchy raised red marks all over him.

Proving his inner thoughts correct, Arthur simply rolled his eyes and sighed at the ceiling, as though he didn’t know why God had landed him with Merlin. Merlin was tempted to give him detention purely for the cheek. 

“How much of my blood do you need?” Arthur asked Gaius, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt with determination. “I’m not squeamish. I can take it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Arthur, you haven’t even asked what this is for,” Merlin snapped. This boy really was the most reckless idiot to ever be born. Why Merlin was loyal to him was a mystery sometimes.

“Don’t be a dullard, sir, I know it’s to save everyone from fainting,” Arthur retorted, still proving he had zero respect for authority. “Everyone who has passed out is someone I know. It’s got something to do with me, hasn’t it? That’s why you need my blood.”

Merlin shared a look with Gaius. That was almost self-aware for Arthur. Considering how little he noticed back in Camelot, Merlin was grudgingly impressed.

“Arthur, please sit down,” Gaius said gently. “This isn’t something to take lightly.”

“We don’t have time to sit down,” he said, stubborn as always. “People are losing their magic, they might die. We have to do this now. Seriously, how much do you need? A lot right?” Arthur lifted his arm again, running the tip of his wand over the vein in his arm without the slightest hesitation. Merlin felt sick even at the thought of it, even as he stepped forward.

“Arthur, would you just listen for once in your life?”

“You know me, sir,” Arthur said, smiling a determined, brave sort of smile and Merlin felt his stomach drop because he recognised that tone, he recognised the words that were coming. He could almost see the two goblets sitting in front of him, smell the sharp salt of the sea, like it was yesterday. “I never listen to you.” And then he sliced his arm open so violently that a gush of blood streamed out like a fountain.

Merlin almost fainted, horrorstruck.

Luckily for them all, Gaius had his wits about him.

“Merlin, get him a chair!” he rebuked, immediately raising his wand to summon the nearest bed pan to collect the blood streaming from Arthur’s wound.

Staring at the neon red splashes of blood, dripping with a hollow staccato beat into the metal bedpan, Merlin wanted to throw up. He had seen so much worse in his lifetime. He had seen war victims, decapitations, torture, famine and pestilence but this was _Arthur_. Nothing ever compared to seeing Arthur in pain.

“Merlin!” Gaius yelled, looking a hair away from smacking him around the head for his inaction.

Fortunately for Merlin, his magic was far sharper than he was. The chair sitting by Gwen’s bedside seemed to suddenly animate itself into life as it shook like a dog. It then shuffled over to Arhur with clumsy haste, it’s spindly legs moving with the loping, awkward movements of a baby giraffe learning how to sprint. It somehow managed to catch a woozy Arthur just before he collapsed onto the floor.

It was this that made Merlin finally snap out of his frozen panic to rush to Arthur’s side.

“You idiot, you absolute buffoon, why couldn’t you wait for us to have done this safely?” 

Arthur just blinked, looking almost drunk, his wand falling to the floor and rolling under his chair. 

“You were taking too long,” he muttered. “I’m gonna have a nap now.”

“Don’t you dare, keep your eyes on me,” Merlin said, trying not to get hysterical, clutching onto Arthur’s free hand and peering into his eyes with desperation. His eyelids were getting droopy. Again, Merlin felt his magic surging within him, desperately trying to escape. It felt like a rush of water thundering against a weak dam, seeping out from every small crack in the exterior - from every pore in Merlin’s skin. He didn’t need a mirror to know he was glowing gold. He could see the reflection of light shining in Arthur’s eyes like stars.

“Merlin, you can’t heal him yet, we need more blood.”

 _Then I’ll just give him mine_ , Merlin thought and just like that, he could feel not just magic seeping into Arthur. Looking down at his hands, Merlin had a surreal moment of seeing his veins glow under the gold of his magic, pumping like a drumbeat of ruby-coloured rivulets.

“Merlin…” Gaius said, sounding awed. “I can see your _heart_.”

Through the buzzing in his ears, Merlin looked down at his chest to see Gaius wasn’t joking. It was akin to a muggle x-ray but bathed in red. Merlin could see past his ribs and his organs to see his heart was glowing red and pulsing with life, _sharing_ life.

Turning blearily back to Arthur, Merlin could see he had more colour in his cheeks. He was literally Arthur’s lifeblood. It was so grand, so monumental a moment, that Merlin had no idea how to articulate it, although that was mainly because he had lost all feeling to his tongue.

He managed a weak little “Holy shit, would you look at how weird that is,” to Gaius before promptly passing out. 

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Opening his eyes, Merlin almost let out a huff of a laugh. 

He was in the hospital wing, again, for a second year in a row. It was almost becoming a tradition. 

“If that’s a laugh, I’m going to stick another needle in your arm,” Gaius said waspishly from Merlin’s beside. He was even holding a large syringe rather menacingly to affirm his point. Merlin tried to look remorseful but it was hard when Gaius’ eyebrows looked so irritable that Merlin could almost see another tiny pair of angry eyebrows above them. 

“Why do you insist on trying to kill yourself every year?” Gaius said, so utterly displeased with Merlin that he looked likely to turf him out the bed for taking up space.

“It’s Arthur’s fault, he drives me to it,” Merlin said almost childishly, pointing over to the next bed where Arthur was chewing happily on a chocolate frog.

“Um, sorry?” Arthur said, not meaning it in the slightest, his lips covered in chocolate. “Oh, and thanks for saving my life again, professor. That was pretty bitching.”

“Arthur, please don’t say ‘bitching’,” Merlin groaned. “You also need to stop making this constant penchant for killing yourself a habit, Arthur.”

“In my defense, I couldn’t control that crazy lady poisoning me last year,” he said, always the smart-mouth as he started in on another frog, catching it mid-air with his quick reflexes. “I’m just happy everyone’s okay.” Arthur then blinked mid-chew, the frog still squirming for freedom in his mouth, its webbed feet kicking the tip of Arthur’s nose. “They _are_ all okay, right? Gwen? Gwaine? George?”

Merlin just smiled. Once a self-sacrificing idiot, always a self-sacrificing idiot.

“Everyone is fine,” Gaius assured him, which made Arthur happily begin chewing again. “Unlike you two, they’re well enough to be out of the hospital wing and enjoying the last feast of the year.”

Licking his fingers, Arthur looked immensely pleased with himself. It was an expression he wore so often that Merlin was beginning to think his face was stuck like that.

How Arthur managed to stay consistently so reckless really was beyond Merlin’s comprehension. Was this why he was the Once and Future King, because he was an impulsive idiot who threw himself into danger for no good reason?

He wasn’t sure if his nerves could survive any more of this.

“Please do me a favour, Arthur,” he said, putting his hands together in prayer. “Try not to kill yourself next year as well. I might look young but my heart can’t take much more of this.”

Arthur just smirked, shrugging his shoulders simply.

“Can’t make any promises there, sir,” he said like the brat he was. “Life just happens, you know?”

Life did just happen. And God help Merlin, but he wouldn’t change Arthur and his impulsiveness for the world.


	11. Year Three: A Giant Secret

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**2007**

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By Arthur’s third year, the unrest in the wizarding world was almost at fever pitch. 

All creatures and beings were being openly rounded up in the thousands now, while the Ministry cheerfully labelled this new move as a humane sort of ‘re-housing project’. Clearly, the propaganda of previous years had begun to sound cruel and archaic so a shinier veneer had been put on the entire affair.

For some reason, this false benevolence left a worse taste in Merlin’s mouth than the flagrant prejudice before it.

According to the new Minister for Magic Aredian (a name Merlin hadn’t missed in the slightest), a new facility had been created, which was welcoming and spacious. It provided expert care and attention to the beasts in residence and was compassionately ‘rehabilitating’ them from their savage nature. The picture that accompanied his words was that of a gargantuan gold-gilded building, putting Merlin to mind of a shinier version of the British Houses of Parliament. On the outside of the building were statues of the beings kept inside, every arch housing silver depictions of these beings looking beatific and subservient, from adoring house-elves to tame werewolves, which bounded from windowsill to windowsill like playful dogs. 

It was the statues on either side of the grand entrance, however, that really made Merlin's skin crawl. 

On one side was a marble statue of a muscular, handsome centaur. On the other side was a similar one of a beautiful, crassly naked mermaid. They bowed subserviently whenever a wizard walked by with simpering, flirtatious smiles on their stone faces. All the while, a dark viscous type of smoke circled around their necks, wrapping around their throats tightly, like a pair of oily leather gloves strangling them. This new incorporeal collar seemed to replace the previous leather version Merlin remembered. The old one caused excruciating pain when the wearer did something the Ministry disapproved of. 

Whatever this new collar did, Merlin had a feeling it was infinitely worse.

Luckily for him, he had a know-it-all dragon at his disposal that had the supernatural predisposition of knowing everything.

“The facility is called ‘The Menagerie’,” Merlin had remarked darkly, levitating a Ministry pamphlet to float in front of Kilgharrah's sharp eyes. “Pretty name for a prison.” 

“And an apt one for a gilded cage,” Kilgharrah has agreed, just as troubled as he studied the parchment. It was bright and garish and showed an animated illustration of happy hags and beaming vampires doing mundane things like knitting and going for walks around the lush grounds of the facility. 

It looked like a parody of a retirement home. Merlin thought this was a fitting comparison since most of those residents went there to die, too.

“This sorcery around their necks is an affront to nature itself,” Kilgharrah said with a cold sort of rage, as though he couldn’t believe this collar had the audacity to exist. “Like a horcrux or an obscurial, it’s a perverse, corrupted sort of magic that somehow defies magic itself.”

“What does it do, Kilgharrah?” Merlin asked, looking completely thrown. In all his years, he hadn’t uncovered anything like it. “Does it trap their magic inside them?”

“It appears to sever the bond these creatures have with magic altogether.”

Just the thought of that made Merlin come out in a cold sweat.

“But how is that possible?” he croaked out as he realised the sheer magnitude of the problem. “They _are_ magic. Surely without it-”

“They’ll die,” Kilgharrah answered back grimly. “That’s usually the case but whatever this is, it appears to keep them alive, like a dark alternative of some kind. A parasite, burrowing into its host, tricking the body to accept that it is magic. The beings wearing these collars are little more than the walking dead, practically soulless. As though-“

“They were kissed by a dementor,” Merlin finished. That was a fate worse than death. He had once witnessed a prisoner receive the kiss and still remembered how the harrowing screams were followed almost immediately by a deafening silence. The sheer emptiness in that man’s eyes still haunted Merlin to this day.

“We have to stop this, Kilgharrah,” Merlin said with determination, his hands clenched into fists on either side of him. “I need to get into the Menagerie somehow and break everyone out.”

Kilgharrah let out a chuckle at that. Even after a thousand years, the overgrown lizard was still so bloody infuriating. 

“Even you can’t take on the entire Ministry of Magic by yourself, Merlin. Many have already tried and failed.”

Merlin felt like arguing the fact but he knew Kilgharrah had a point. 

Many brave folks _had_ tried to fight against the Ministry’s dangerous new rhetoric. Protests and riots had broken out in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley the moment the Menagerie was announced. Hermione Granger naturally had led the charge -- her husband and her best friend at her side as always -- but even their influential voices couldn't sway the Ministry’s plan.

They couldn't even save poor Hagrid, despite how hard they tried.

Merlin himself had urged Hagrid to leave before the Ministry’s attention turned to him but it was no use. One day Merlin woke up to see Hagrid’s place at the professor’s table was empty. He had briefly hoped against hope that Hagrid had left on his own but the look on McGonagall’s face -- composed but terribly, terribly sad -- told Merlin all he needed to know.

The Ministry’s new task force from the Department of Magical Beasts -- the Beast Capture Unit -- had taken him in the night, like a horror story monster. They had left Hagrid’s hut boarded-up and abandoned and the pumpkins in his vegetable patch smashed. 

Merlin could feel the sheer emptiness from Hagrid’s lack of presence and that wasn’t just because he took up the space of three men. 

It was what made Merlin visit Kilgharrah in the first place.

Merlin already had plans to break out the creatures. Hagrid’s disappearance chased away the tiniest doubt he had. He would find him, whatever it took.

Kilgharrah had opened his mouth, no doubt to impart another sly riddle that drove Merlin around the bend when a sudden rustle in the trees got Merlin’s attention.

Lifting up a hand of magical sparks instinctively, Merlin’s eyes narrowed. Very few creatures still lived in the forest after the Ministry had done their sweep of the grounds and most of the students were at Hogsmeade for the weekend.

The fire in Merlin’s palm crackled and hissed, licking at his fingers harmlessly. If Merlin found a member of the Beast Capture Unit, he would be only too happy to make their acquaintance. 

He turned to Kilgharrah.

“Go, I’ll handle this. We don’t want you captured as well.”

“As if they could,” Kilgharrah said churlushly but he acquiesced, stretching his giant wings to lift himself off the ground. “Good luck, young warlock. Do try not to die.”

“I haven’t so far,” Merlin responded cheekily. 

“Humph,” Kilgharrah responded, beating his wings in the air, the force of it ruffling Merlin’s hair and clothes. “Not for a lack of trying.”

And then he was off, soaring into the sky majestically. It was a sight Merlin never got tired of seeing. Within a few seconds, Kilgharrah was a dark speck in the sky, barely visible.

Which is when someone lumbered into Merlin’s path and delightfully said.

“Murly!”

Merlin extinguished the flames in his hand immediately, breaking into a beam of a smile.

“Grawp!” Merlin said in relief. Grawp happily waved back. “I was worried you had been captured! Have you been here alone the whole time?”

“Wait, don’t hurt him! He’s our friend!” 

To Merlin’s surprise, _Arthur_ came out of the bushes nearby, the twigs and leaves in his hair so much like a nest that a bird would likely try to lay eggs on his scalp any minute now. Two second later, two more bedraggled-looking teens followed him out the bushes. Gwen and Lancelot looked just as messy, although literally being dragged backwards through a bush still didn’t stop Gwen looking beautiful.

Merlin opened his mouth and then shut it again. He was momentarily stunned. He turned to Grawp to really look at him. The giant looked a little dirty and messy but he was well-fed and had clearly been given nice new clothes. Merlin recognised one of Arthur’s scarves and a school shirt and trousers, clearly enchanted with an Engorgio charm to make them fit Grawp’s frame. 

Grawp looked like a giant Hogwarts student. It was almost adorable. All he needed was a school bag and an owl and he would be set. He was also missing a pair of shoes, his big hairy toes wiggling happily in the dirt. Merlin had the feeling the teens had tried to give him shoes but it didn’t stick.

“Have you three been hiding Grawp here all this time?” Merlin asked, clearly knowing the answer to his question.

Gwen stepped forward, wringing her hands and sharing a look with Lancelot and Arthur. 

“He’s not dangerous, professor,” she said a little breathlessly, proving the fact that Hufflepuffs could be as brave as any Gryffindor. She even stood in front of Grawp, unconsciously shielding him from Merlin. That pedestal Merlin put her on just kept on getting higher. “Please don’t take him away! He doesn’t have anyone after they took Professor Hagrid away.”

‘I’m not going to take him away, Gwen,” Merlin said kindly, watching the relief bloom over her face. “Grawp and I are old friends, aren’t we, Grawp?”

“Murly!” Grawp said happily, reaching out to grab him. Letting the giant fingers wind around his waist, Merlin held on to a chipped thumbnail the size of a dinner plate as Grawp lifted him up in the air. 

Even when Hagrid had worried about his brother being too simple to coexist with wizards, Grawp had somehow always recognised Merlin, no matter the disguise. It was amazing but also a little concerning. Merlin wondered if he had a distinctive scent only giants could smell.

Arthur looked boggle-eyed at the whole scene, his mouth agape, especially when Grawp pulled Merlin to his chest for a bone crushing hug.

It was a good thing Merlin was immortal because he was pretty sure he heard about five bones crack and a spleen rupture.

“Murly, Hagger gone,” Grawp said. His childlike face looked sad.

Merlin patted Grawp’s giant thumb in consolation.

“I know, Grawp. I’m trying to get him out.”

“Why Hagger no take Grawp?” he asked, his huge eyes watery and his bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably.

Merlin had a mad urge to hug him again, even if it did turn his insides into liquid goo.

“It’s safer for you here, Grawp, where the ministry can’t find you. Besides, it looks like you’ve made some new friends.”

Merlin turned back to the three students on the ground, looking even smaller from his elevated height. Arthur’s mouth was still hanging open.

Lancelot, being the polite boy he was in every world, raised a hand. 

Merlin tried not to crack a grin, but that was mainly because his ribs still hurt. 

“You don’t have to raise your hand when we’re outside the classroom, Lancelot.”

Lancelot lowered his arm sheepishly.

“Are we in trouble, professor?” he asked.

“Well, I can hardly encourage illegally hiding magical beings on school property,” Merlin said firmly, and he could see all three shoulders slump. He then cleared his throat, before smiling over at Grawp. “Luckily, there seems to be nothing to see here.”

“You’re literally being held by a giant,” said Arthur, like he was being backward. 

“Really?” Merlin exclaimed, swivelling his head from left to right in exaggerated confusion before turning to Grawp himself. “Grawp, you haven’t seen a giant around here have you?” 

“Grawpy no see!” Grawp said cheerfully, covering his eyes with his other hand like they were playing peekaboo.

“See, Mr Pendragon,” Merlin returned with a grin which only widened when the three friends cottoned on. “Everything is perfectly above board. A good thing, too, I can only imagine how many magical beings someone could hide in the Forbidden Forest, what with all the underground caves. With so many displaced beings, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before someone realises it’s the perfect spot to keep them safe. I may just use it myself. I have a lot of friends who love to come for a visit.”

Arthur’s eyes seemed to widen so much at his words, it looked like a passing basilisk had Petrified him. 

“There… there’s some centaurs further into the forest that look like they need shelter.”

“Hmm,” said Merlin, tapping his lip pensively. “That sounds like something I’ll completely forget about if anyone from the Ministry asks me about it.”

“Murly funny,” Grawp said.

“I’m glad someone finds me witty. That’s why you, Grawp, are my favourite. Could you put me down now, big guy? I’m beginning to lose all feeling to my legs.”

Looking disappointed to lose his human doll, Grawp nevertheless lowered Merlin with a surprising amount of care for someone so large and lumbering. Merlin patted the side of his huge hand in thanks.

“By the way, if you do see those centaurs, just tell them Professor Emrys sent you. And whatever you do, don’t get them talking about bloody Mars, they’ll never shut up.” Merlin then stopped to look at the three friends. They were so brave and compassionate. He had never been prouder of them all. “What you three are doing here is very dangerous, do you understand that?” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “If you get caught, it’ll be more than a slap on the wrist.”

Arthur puffed out his chest.

“You’re the one who always says that bad things happen when good people do nothing.” 

“Arthur, have you been listening to me in class? I’m shocked you stayed awake.”

Gwen giggled. Arthur threw her a betrayed look. Lancelot, who was quietly watching their interaction, stepped forward.

“If I may ask, why are you helping us, professor?” he asked, as courageous as always. “Surely you’ll be in trouble as well.”

“Some things are worth getting in trouble for, Lancelot,” Merlin said simply and Merlin saw Arthur’s eyes light up at those words. “That doesn’t mean I don’t expect your essays on ‘Witch Burnings in the 14th Century’ on Wednesday morning.”

The three of them let out a collective groan. Merlin couldn’t bring himself to tell them off for it. He was still too full of pride.

“Now,” he said, fondly watching as Grawp happily handed Gwen a tree branch like it was a flower; Gwen blushed prettily and accepted it, “why don’t you three tell me how all this even started?”

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Over the next few months, Arthur and his friends were true to their word.

Grawp and the rogue centaurs Arthur had mentioned were now safely hidden away in the vast underground caves deep in the forest.

And they weren’t the only ones. A few of the house elves that Hogwarts was struggling to protect had also moved in, with Winky leading the charge and insisting her fellow elves trust in the great ‘Master Arthur’.

Soon enough, more people had joined Arthur in his quest to hide away magical beings. Being the natural leader he had always been, Merlin was hardly surprised.

Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, Percy and -- to Merlin’s surprise -- _Morgana_ had also joined the fight, sneaking into the forest to covertly smuggle food, services and essentials to the beings they helped. Leon especially shocked everyone when he revealed himself to be an excellent hairdresser. He was in high demand with the centaurs in particular, becoming their favourite person when he did a perfect French plait in Firenze’s tail.

More beings steadily joined, including an injured young veela and a couple of hags. Grawp, however, was clearly everyone’s favourite. He was the giant toddler that everyone had a soft spot for. Merlin had spotted Gwen and Morgana painting his toenails since he refused to wear shoes while Gwaine tried to teach him how to flirt with lady giants, poor Percy being forced to roleplay as his love interest since he was the tallest.

Elyan, meanwhile, could be seen trying to teach the house elves to duel and defend themselves in a fight, never looking prouder when one of them finally managed to slam him against the nearest wall. Merlin had honestly never seen anyone look that cross-eyed and happy at the same time.

The students even tried to make the cave more homely, with posters and furniture they had smuggled out of the Room of Requirement with shrinking charms. Gwaine, who had always struggled at charms, had ended up with the sofa in his back pocket bursting through his trousers and back to full size while he was walking up the grounds, his animated snitch underpants out for all the world to see. Gwaine being Gwaine, had shrugged with no shame, winked and had asked everyone if they had liked the view.

Watching as they all worked together, Merlin felt a warmth settling inside him, like he had a belly full of bluebell flames gently melting all his sadness away. The camaraderie between the teens as they worked together towards a common good felt like Dumbledore’s Army again. It felt like a Camelot that never existed, one where Arthur and Morgana worked together to make things better for everyone.

When Merlin saw them all like this, he let himself have hope that Albion was real, that it was finally on its way.

And no one proved that to Merlin more than Arthur, who worked harder than anyone to make sure the mini sanctuary he had spearheaded would remain secret. He only ever talked to Merlin about it during their tutorial sessions, and only after they put a silencing charm up against the portraits in the room, who looked annoyed to miss a meaty bit of gossip.

“Here, this is a present from our mutual big friend,” Arthur had said one time, looking a little confused as he handed Merlin a smelly looking fungus.

“Oh how sweet, he remembered!” Merlin said, reacting to it like one would the most beautiful rose. Merlin even gave it a sniff. It was absolutely vile, almost singeing his nostril hair with its putrid pong. It was absolutely perfect. It was just what he needed for his potions.

Arthur looked at him like he had lost his mind. Arthur often bestowed him with this face so Merlin barely reacted.

“You actually wanted this?” 

“Of course! It’s extremely rare, you can only get it in the deepest parts of the forest. Grawp must have gone through a great deal of trouble to get it for me. That sweetheart.”

Arthur looked between Merlin and the fungus, his face thoughtful.

“I think he’s got a crush on you,” he said. “Grawp, that is, not the fungus.”

“Well, I always did like the strong silent type. Although I think the fungus might like me, too,” Merlin said as he happily petted it, watching it let out an oozing sort of liquid in response. 

Arthur just stared at Merlin’s expression silently.

“What is it?” Merlin asked.

“Um, nothing.” but his cheeks had gone a little pink. 

Merlin just shrugged. He then reluctantly put the fungus away before lowering the silencing charm and turning back to Arthur.

“Right, so let’s finish that chapter on the Veela Revolution of-”

“Actually…” said Arthur, nibbling on his lip almost pensively. “I was wondering if we could learn about King Arthur and Merlin.”

Merlin stared at him, his mouth falling open. He clearly wasn’t the only one surprised because his office supplies all turned to look at Arthur at once.

“What?” Arthur said to them, looking a little defensive. The office supplies quickly turned back, embarrassed to have been caught.

Merlin swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. It seemed to have disappeared somewhere down his throat and apparently refused to come up again.

“The module on Arthurian legends isn’t until your NEWTs, Arthur,” Merlin finally managed, his tone scratchy.

Arthur just shrugged. 

“I guess you can say I’ve got a vested interest. Could you? Teach it to me?”

“It seems a bit premature to-”

“Please, professor? I want to know.” Arthur had turned on the big guns, the big blue eyes. Merlin had always been powerless against their strength.

Swallowing hard, Merlin nodded. He then summoned over a book -- a book he had watched Geoffrey of Monmouth transcribe with his own eyes -- before dropping it in front of Arthur. The book seemed to let out an exhale of contentment, as though finally at one. It was finally in front of its true master.

Because King Arthur of Camelot himself had written in that book. Merlin had memorised every messy scrawl, every note in the margins, every underline and circle. 

And now Arthur was touching it again, turning the pages with those same fingers, smaller than they were before but still just as nimble, just as curious.

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek and willed himself not to get choked up as he began to tell the tale.

“Over fifteen hundred years ago,” he said, his eyes glazing over as he pictured it like it was yesterday, “there was a kingdom called Camelot…”


	12. Year Four: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Hide Them

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**2008**

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The Gryffindor Quidditch team from Arthur's fourth year onwards had been Merlin's favourite by far. This was because Leon was keeper, Percy and Gwaine were beaters, Elyan, Lancelot and Elena were picked as the final chasers and Arthur himself was their seeker and captain.

This being the case, they soon gained the reputation of being the best team Gryffindor had ever produced and Arthur, of course, began to be touted as the greatest captain in the history of Hogwarts, overtaking the likes of Bill Weasley and even Harry Potter. 

It didn't take long for the name Prince Arthur and the Knights of the Round Quaffle to surface and it took even less time for the Gryffindors to begin to make supporter garb for their team every match.

Gwen, who had always been handy with a quill, drew amazingly detailed patterns onto large banners and cardboard shields and Merlin had felt his breath catch when he saw the Pendragon crest glittering with gold ink in the sun. Gwen had even placed a nifty little charm onto her work that made the dragon throw back its head every so often to roar out a glittering burst of fire, so much like the mark Merlin knew sat on Arthur’s chest.

Even the first years had got in on the action. They fashioned chainmail and helmets out of muggle foil, attached sword handles to their wands so they could brandish them around like angry warlords and even made up rousing supporter songs to belt out in unison during matches (Merlin's personal favourite being "He's big, he's bad, King Uther's his dad - PENDRAGON!").

As a member of the faculty who wasn't tied to any one house, Merlin had to usually act indifferent to the house matches as he sat in the stands beside his fellow teachers. Arthur, however, being the loveable pillock he was, had broken Merlin's rule utterly and completely when he had owled him a Gryffindor flag with the words 'Arthur the Great' stitched on it and had attached a note, imperiously insisting Merlin support him at their final game for the Quidditch Cup or he would have him deported.

Merlin had fashioned the banner it into one of his customary neckerchiefs and placed it around his neck before he even realised he had done it. McGonagall had looked approving while Arthur, who managed to catch his eye during the warm up, broke into self-satisfied smirk, as though he had tied it there himself like a ladies favour.

Gryffindor’s opponent for the final game was none other than Morgana’s Slytherin side, which had been the only real, formidable threat to Arthur’s team. Morgana’s co-ordination was as skilful as always, with her unpredictable and unorthodox strategies often throwing even a tactician like Arthur for a loop.

Merlin watched as she, Nimeuh and Kara worked in perfect harmony together as chasers, their moves as fluid and dynamic as their magic. Mordred was seeker, his eyes as sharp and focused as they had ever been. Looking at them like this, young and fresh-faced, Merlin tried his hardest to make sure they all stayed that way.

They had all been failed in their previous lives. Merlin had spent his first few centuries blaming them -- blaming Mordred -- for all that had happened to Camelot but in hindsight, everyone had been a victim of their circumstances. They had grown bitter and hateful because oppression had turned them that way. As Merlin watched Nimueh clench her fist in triumph as she scored a seemingly impossible hoop, he found himself clapping her accomplishment.

There was no bitterness on her face. 

Mordred and Kara celebrated by beaming at each other, evidently just as in love in this life as they had been in the previous one.

The game was closer than Merlin thought it would be but Arthur, of course, threw everything he had at it. He almost gave Merlin a heart attack when he literally leapt off his broom to grab the snitch, falling five metres to the ground before somersaulting back onto his broom again like a gymnast. The hand Merlin had clutched to his heart was so tight that he lightheadedly wondered if he was cutting off his own circulation.

Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. McGonagall was trying not to sob with happiness but had clearly given up, her glasses filling with tears as she blew her nose loudly. 

Watching as they lifted the Quidditch cup with triumph - magical fireworks bursting into the shape of the Gryffindor lion as red and gold confetti falling all around them - Merlin let himself hold onto this one memory of happiness for as long as he could. He had a feeling it would be one of the last times Arthur would get to be this carefree for a while. 

Arthur seemed to be looking through the crowd, searching for something until his eyes fell on Merlin. He then beamed. Merlin smiled back, even as he knew in the back of his mind that he might be in Azkaban this time next week

Because, after a year of planning, he was finally ready to break into the menagerie. 

He just hoped he wouldn’t die in the process. 

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Finding the location of the Menagerie had been easy enough.

Ministry officials were generally a chatty lot when one put a few drops of Veritaserum into their drink but Menagerie guard Eggbert Dawlish took the Pumpkin Pasty. The man was so loose-lipped it was a wonder his mouth hadn’t simply fallen off his face, hopped onto Merlin’s shoulder and started hollering out all his secrets into his ear.

Merlin had managed to accost the loquacious Menagerie guard at the Leaky Cauldron, who had been so susceptible to the Veritaserum that after he shared the location of Hagrid and the other snatched beings, he went on for another three hours about his undying love for his brother’s wife, his strained relationship with his father and a weird oozing rash he had on his private parts that he was too embarrassed to show his healer. 

By the time Merlin had left the man, he had been sobbing uncontrollably into his beer, almost drowning himself in it as he scratched helplessly at his groin.

Luckily for Merlin, the information had been solid. An hour later, as Merlin walked into the side entrance of the Menagerie wearing a disillusionment charm strong enough to bypass a dozen guards, he mentally sent Eggbert a thank you. He dearly hoped the man got that rash checked out before it spread.

The side entrance of the Menagerie was no less grand than the outside but the second Merlin entered the building, he felt winded, his head reeling, as though a mountain troll had repeatedly thumped him over the head with its club.

It was the anti-magic Kilgharrah had mentioned, Merlin was sure of it. He could feel it right down to his bones, like a virus or a plague that was trying it’s hardest to infect him. It felt like a faceless shroud trying to strangle his magic out of him; like maggots crawling over his skin, trying to burrow into him and lay their poisoned eggs inside him.

This place is where magic went to die. 

Swallowing hard, Merlin just hoped it was a hospital and not a graveyard.

Wand out, he moved further down the golden corridors, the high marble ceilings and the narrow doorways making him feel strangely claustrophobic. 

The beatific statues on the outside of the building had continued here, with a happy looking troop of Goblins with rictus smiles on their faces, their sharp teeth glinting with the candlelight. Their eyes seemed to follow Merlin’s every move, making him paranoid if they could see him under the charm.

The place was eerily empty and would have been completely silent if it wasn’t for the cheerful piano music that seemed to be playing from the gold loudspeakers on the wall, so like the ones Dolores Umbridge had adopted at Hogwarts. The music seemed to be on loop, occasionally repeating itself, like a broken record, the needle skipping every so often before cheerfully warbling up again.

_ Yeah, that’s not bloody creepy at all,  _ Merlin thought to himself. If this was a muggle horror movie, he was sure now would be the time the axe wielding psychopath would decapitate him and wear his head as a hat.

Which was when he heard a hiss of voices.

Merlin raised his wand immediately, ready for said psychopath and any wayward axes that were hurtled in his direction. He then paused, tilting his head when he heard how young those voices sounded. At how  _ familiar _ those voices sounded.

Arthur. 

Merlin groaned, dropping his head in his free hand. As immortal as he was, Merlin was convinced that boy was going to be the death of him one day.

“Arthur Pendragon, what the hell are you doing here?” Merlin demanded, releasing himself from his Disillusionment charm with a wave of his hand.

“Professor!” Arthur squeaked and jumped about a foot in the air, something Merlin was sure the boy would deny until his dying day. Arthur looked understandably shocked to see Merlin quite literally appearing out of thin air, as though Merlin was some sort of conscience spectre that popped out at odd times to bollock him about his life choices. Arthur then recovered the way he always did and haughtily lifted his head. His ability to adapt to any situation with pomposity really was a gift. “I’m the prince, I asked for a tour.”

“A tour?” Merlin replied back, flummoxed. That really hadn’t been the response he had expected. He blinked, sure he was wearing a stupid face. Arthur’s expression clearly conveyed that he was. “And they just gave you one?”

“Of course they did,” he sniffed importantly, managing to make entitlement sound like a God-given right. “You do realise the only person in my life who doesn’t listen to my every demand is  _ you _ , professor.”

“Oh,” said Merlin. That information made him feel quite proud of himself. The fact he had spent so long on earth and still couldn’t abide by royal decorum showed he was just as insolent as Arthur had always claimed he was (although Gaius wouldn’t have picked quite so flattering an adjective). Merlin then looked at what Arthur was wearing. It was hardly fitting for a royal visit. It looked more like athletic wear, something a person could run in. Merlin narrowed his eyes.

“What are you planning?” he demanded, cutting straight to the chase.

Arthur blinked.

“I’m not planning anything, professor. I just felt like a field trip.”

“A field trip,” Merlin said blankly. “To a place I know that you hate. Try again.”

“Um… this is a royal photo-op?” Arthur attempted, sounding so suspect that Merlin -- who was clearly breaking about fifty laws himself -- was tempted to arrest Arthur on the spot and march him over to the authorities himself.

“If this is a photo-op, why are Gwaine, Lancelot and Guinevere here, too?” Merlin asked suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest because he could see them, peeking out from behind a tapestry and trying to be covert. It might have worked if Merlin hadn’t seen all three sets of their feet on display and hadn’t heard Gwaine letting out a sneeze so loud that the tapestry fluttered.

“Er, they’re here to help me with my hair and make-up?” Arthur said, sounding unsure himself, rubbing the back of his head. “Lancelot’s really good at contouring?”

“Idiot,” a familiar voice muttered from behind a plant pot. It was clearly Morgana. 

Merlin groaned, running his hand down his face in exasperation. Even the Slytherins were running around performing ridiculous acts of foolhardy bravery. Clearly, Arthur was a bad influence on  _ everyone _ .

“Excellent work, Arthur, is the entire school here, too?” Merlin asked, sounding pained as he rubbed his eyes, as though doing so would remove this entire situation from existence.

Footsteps suddenly sounded down the corridor, walking briskly towards them before Arthur could respond. Thinking quickly, Merlin lifted his wand and managed to magically shove an offended Arthur (“Hey!” he had cried out) behind Morgana’s plant pot just when a familiar figure rounded the corner. 

Merlin felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him when he saw who it was.

“Newt? Newt Scamander? Is that you?”

Because it really was.

Merlin’s heart swelled as he took in his appearance. It had been so long since he had seen him in the flesh. Age had been kinder to Newt than most. He was still spindly and his hair was still well-coiffed but he was greyer, his face lined and his jacket wrinkled. The collar of his blue jacket still managed to defy gravity as it sat stiffly up, brushing his sharp jawline and his bow tie somehow accomplished the feat of being both neat and haphazardly tied at the same time. 

Newt was over a hundred years old now but he looked as full of life as Dumbledore had at that age. Merlin still remembered that awkward Hufflepuff in his class, the soft-spoken lad who avoided eye-contact, rambled around the school grounds for creatures and was so uncommonly kind that Merlin had worried he was too good for this cruel world.

Merlin had taken on the form of Dragoon back when Newt was a Hogwarts student. For some reason, Dragoon’s gruff persona never seemed to frighten Newt. Newt had just seemed fascinated by him, like he was another peculiar animal that needed studying.

Back in the present, Newt’s same curiosity was still there but it was overtaken with suspicion, his wand raised sharply at Merlin.

“Who are you?” said Newt distrustfully, just the sound of his voice making Merlin’s memories do a rumba inside his head. He even spoke in the same awkward tone, his eyes never lingering on Merlin’s own for too long. For a man with social anxiety, he really was one of the most compassionate men Merlin had come across.

“My name is Emrys,” said Merlin gently, keeping his arms up to convey that he wasn’t a threat. He prayed Arthur stayed where he was and didn’t jump in to play the hero, like he always did. “I’m the new History of Magic teacher at Hogwarts. You knew my grandfather, Dragoon.”

“Professor Dragoon?” Newt replied, his wand drooping slightly as Merlin hoped it would. Newt peered at Merlin, running his shifting eyes all over his features to try and decipher a resemblance. He looked a little startled but Merlin noted that Newt always seemed to look like that, whatever the situation. “You have his eyes.”

_ Your eyes, we’ve met somewhere before. _

Merlin smiled almost wryly.

“I have a lot of Dragoon in me,” he said truthfully, trying not to laugh at the irony of this. Sometimes he felt like Dragoon was a more honest version of himself than ‘Merlin’ was. “He also told me you were friends once. That you were a good man. I’ve come to free these beings. Will you help me?”

“A good man,” Newt said softly, shaking his head. He looked almost defeated, like a crumpled bit of parchment, his wrinkles stark in the light. “Tell me, Mr Emrys, do you think a good man would work here?”

“He would if he wanted to ensure nothing bad happened to the prisoners here,” Merlin returned with a tentative step closer, sure that was what was going on. Nothing else, other than a swift  _ Imperio _ to the head, could have explained Newt’s presence here. Newt’s kindness was as much a part of him as his freckles.

“That’s the thing, I’ve not been able to stop anything. The things they have done to them…  _ are  _ doing to them. It’s monstrous,” Newt said hoarsely, his eyes shining with the horrors they had no doubt witnessed. “This isn’t just a prison, Mr Emrys, this is a laboratory. They dissect werewolves while they’re still alive, they throw vampires into sunlight to see how long they can survive, they carve into house-elves to find the source of their elemental magic… they’re taking their blood and organs to experiment what makes them tick. I’ve never seen such cruelty.”

“Then help me,” Merlin insisted, almost suffocating on his impatience. “I know a place where they are already being hidden. They can be safe there.”

Lowering his wand by an inch, Newt actually seemed to consider this. Merlin gave himself a mental fistpump of victory.

“You’ll need a good undetectable extension charm,” Newt said slowly, mulling it over, “because there aren’t just declassified beings here. There are beasts here, too.”

“Beasts?” Merlin said, surprised. Uther hadn’t gone after beasts the way he had beings. He certainly wasn’t a fan of beasts but they had always had strict regulations on their movements as it was, something that Hagrid would often wail about whenever he wanted a new homicidal pet. “There are beasts here?”

Newt nodded, his perfectly coiffed hair flopping with his movement.

“Dragons,” he elaborated. “Hundreds of them.”

Merlin felt his heart lurch. Dragons. His _ kin.  _ Somewhere, he could hear Kilgharrah let out a roar of fury, enraged by the thought.

“Why would Uther go after them?” Merlin asked Newt, getting that horrible feeling that history was coming full circle again. In the Great Purge, Uther had killed all of the dragons in the land save Kilgharrah. It was all hideously familiar.

“They’re intelligent,” Newt explained. “Though most have forgotten how, they have the capacity to speak.”

_ God, could they _ , Merlin thought, Kilgharrah and his incessant riddles on his mind. That dragon could talk for England, prattling on mindlessly for hours and somehow still managing to say nothing at all. It was the most frustrating -- the most  _ aggravating _ \-- thing in the world and Merlin wouldn’t have it any other way.

“We need to get them out,” Merlin said resolutely. He wouldn’t hear of any other option.

“I agree but they need to go somewhere safe,” said Newt, finally dropping his wand. Merlin felt a rush of warmth towards the man. He was always so brave. “Dragons can’t be controlled, Mr Emrys. They’re one of the few creatures that can’t be tamed. What if you let them go and they set a town ablaze?”

Merlin just smiled at Newt. That part wouldn’t be a problem.

“Let’s just say I have an affinity with them.”

Newt didn’t look overly convinced, his face troubled.

“Oh dear,” he said, his freckles stark against his leathery skin. “I worry this is a terrible idea.”

But Newt being Newt, went with his gut and helped regardless. 

Motioning Merlin towards a large, elaborately decorated gold door across the hallway, Newt led the way. He then pointed his wand at the almost unnecessarily ornate lock which rotated and clicked with his unlocking spell, the mechanisms of the lock shifting and changing until the door itself swung open to reveal the dark, seemingly unending room beyond.

The minute Merlin stepped inside and took in the gravity of what he was seeing, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Because Merlin had heard many stories about the Menagerie but even his overactive imagination couldn’t have conjured a place so unspeakable.

As grand and as beautiful as the Menagerie looked from outside, it was cruel and unforgiving when you looked at what it really was. Concrete walls and bars were all Merlin could see for miles, with the occasional shackles on the wall interspersed between the cells, rimmed with blood from their last victim.

Merlin walked down the lines and lines of neverending cells, looking in horror at the sheer amount of beings trapped behind bars. They were cramped, dirty and bloody, with so many creatures rammed into one cell that they were standing pressed against the bars, with barely any room to sit. He could see emaciated vampires, so pale they could be translucent, spasming limply in starvation. Centaurs with broken legs, their manes shaved as horrendous looking surgical scars covered their torsos. And then there was the cage of what Merlin assumed had been werewolves, who had clearly been left together to tear each other apart, chunks of blood and flesh giving off such a stench that Merlin almost retched. 

But even with all that grisliness, it was the look in all their eyes that really stopped Merlin cold. 

They looked completely blank, unseeing, soulless, as if they were empty vessels. Looking at the pulsing, oily black magic that slithered around their necks like a necklace of leeches, Merlin knew the reason why.

Just being in the presence of all that anti-magic made Merlin’s insides want to spew out of him. His magic was beating frantically inside him, like the wings of a thousand moths, trying desperately to burst out of his chest and get as far away from the darkness as it could.

Snapping at it, he told it to get a hold of itself. Which was when he saw Hagrid, the smallest form in the giant cage of giants. 

Merlin rushed to the bars, ecstasy flowing through him on spotting his friend. 

“Hagrid, thank God,” he said with relief. 

Merlin’s smile soon dimmed when he looked closer. 

The giants were slumped against each other in their cell, their heads brushing the ceiling even as they sat. They had the same blank stares on their faces, that same liquid blackness crawling around their necks. And in the middle sat Hagrid. He had always seemed like such a huge presence to Merlin, taking up the space in every room he was in, not just with his frame but with his personality.

_ This  _ Hagrid, however, could be standing right next to you and you would barely notice. 

He was bald, clean shaven and had lost so much weight that Merlin barely recognised him. He had never seen him look so  _ small _ before and he had seen Hagrid as a child. Just seeing him like this felt harrowing, a physical representation of just how awful things had become. 

And then there were the dragons.

There were _ hundreds _ of them. Trapped in those tiny cages, they seemed to have the anti-magic around their necks and their wrists and ankles. They were full of so much magic, it must have been harder to put them down. Merlin felt rage overtake him. 

These weren’t just creatures. They were his kin.

Before he even knew he was doing it, his mouth was opening and he was thundering out,

“O drakon!” 

The dragons, who had been just as lifeless as the others, suddenly seemed to lose that white sheen over their eyes. Like fog clearing, their expressions went from blank to confused as they blinked lethargically out of their daze. Merlin could see them slowly lifting their necks, as though they had awoken from a centuries long slumber, befuddled and still clinging to sleep.

Newt let out a choke of a noise. Surprised, Merlin wheeled around to look at him. He had forgotten he was even there.

“You’re a dragonlord,” Newt said faintly, staring at Merlin with such astonishment that he looked a hair away from declaring his undying love. “So.. you must be Magic Itself? The prophecy...”

Merlin didn’t have time to explain.

“I’m breaking them out of here, Newt. It’s going to be loud, public, messy and cause a hell of a lot of property damage. I’d like it if you came with me but I’d understand if you can’t - it’s a giant sacrifice. If you want, I can obliviate you, so you won’t have anything to tell the officials. Or I could Stupefy you if you prefer but I hate the hangover after a Stupefy. Maybe a light punch? I’ve got terrible aim and might end up punching myself in the process but if you’d rather go down that rout-”

“Actually, Emrys,” Newt cut across him before looking down at the case in his hand with a wry, twitchy sort of smile on his face. Even weathered, the peeling initials N.S still shone back at them, as though bewitched. “I think I’ve got an idea how we can smuggle all these creatures out without anyone noticing. Tell me, did your grandfather ever tell you about my suitcase?”

Merlin’s face hurt he was smiling so widely.

“He might have mentioned it. Reckon you have space in there for a stubborn mule of a prince and a few of his friends?”

All in all, it went much smoother than Merlin had ever anticipated. For someone who had been convinced he would be ending the day with a Dementor’s tongue down his throat, Merlin found himself almost surreally sitting in Newt’s suitcase as the man himself walked them out of the facility. 

After giving himself a minute to take in how well this had gone, Merlin had snapped out of it to begin removing the anti-magic collars from the creatures around him, being sure to keep Arthur and his friends back just in case things got violent. 

Arthur had pouted spectacularly at this but seemed to reluctantly admit that it was best left to Merlin when a giant tried to stomp on his princely head. 

Hagrid’s was the first collar Merlin removed and seeing the slow, watery-eyed recognition wash over his friend’s bare face made Merlin want to howl as hard as Hagrid did three seconds later, his giant tears spraying Merlin like a salty shower as he hugged him tight enough to asphyxiate him.

One by one, Merlin removed all the restraints, talking in a soft voice to the spooked beings once the life returned back to their eyes. As though they could sense his magic, they stared back at him in trust and understanding, placated in such a way that Merlin felt a little intimidated by his own power.

Arthur and the others seemed to be just as overwhelmed, looking stupefied as they watched Merlin chatting to about a hundred dragons in a large open plain. The dragons were pretty noisy once their oily collars of anti-magic were removed, with a portly Welsh Green called Egan letting out a series of whines that sounded like Beethoven’s 5th symphony. But they couldn’t speak. Just like Aithusa, they hadn’t been taught. 

Merlin knew a particularly chatty dragon who could remedy that.

Removing the rest of the collars in almost record time, Merlin had just managed to release the very last being -- a merman called Tullius who actually snogged Merlin in thanks -- when Newt tripped down the ladder into his suitcase, his feet clumsily missing the bottom few rungs.

Merlin tried not to smile. For a hundred year old man, Newt Scamander really was all sorts of adorable.

“Did you manage to hand the suitcase over to Gaius?” Merlin asked, once again thanking whatever deity out there had given Gaius back to him. Merlin would have been lost without him.

“Yes,” Newt let out with breathless puff, mopping his brow with a half-burnt, chewed-up handkerchief that had clearly seen better days. The embroidered initials of  _ P.G. _ gave Merlin an idea why Newt hadn’t parted with it despite its dire condition. Merlin had always been fond of Tina, finding it miraculous that Newt had somehow managed to marry someone as awkward as he was. Her death had broken more than just Newt’s heart. “Gaius is on his way to the Forbidden Forest to round up the other beings and direct them here. The vampires can stay in the twilight enclosure, the merpeople will have to share the lake with the kelpies and I have more than enough space for the others to spell themselves accommodations.”

“The veela are pretty picky. Don’t be surprised if a modern condominium with a swimming pool ends up being built,” Merlin said with a grin, looking across at the vast planes of space all around him, already envisioning the buildings that would be erected. “Are you sure you’ll be okay literally living out of your suitcase? I oliviated the guards and all records of you even working at the Menagerie so you don’t necessarily have to live as a fugitive…”

“I like my suitcase,” Newt said, looking the most comfortable in his skin Merlin had ever seen him. “My son and my daughter-in-law have a direct doorway to visit me here. You don’t need to worry about me, Emrys, I’m happy here.” To prove his point, a wandering mooncalf scurried over and rubbed its face into Newt’s thigh like a puppy welcoming back its master. Newt patted their head with affection, cooing down at them. “Hello, Nora, my gorgeous girl. Tell me how your day was today.” The mooncalf let out a bunch of unintelligible noises Newt clearly understood because he gasped and hummed in all the right places.

Merlin shook his head. The man was all sorts of brilliant.

“He’s amazing.” Gwen said from behind him, her voice coming out with a hushed sort of admiration.

“He really is,” Merlin agreed, turning around to face her. But Gwen wasn’t looking at Newt. To Merlin’s surprise, she was looking directly at  _ him _ , her dark eyes soft with wonderment. Morgana, who was standing beside her, looked amused.

“She was talking about you, sir,” she clarified, her red lips quirking dryly. 

Arthur didn’t say anything but from the slack-jawed look on his face, Merlin had a feeling that he wholeheartedly agreed with Gwen’s assessment.

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By the last day of the school year, Newt’s suitcase was beginning to become a thriving community, with about three hundred magical beings and beasts in residence.

Temporary housing had been created, with the giants lending a helping hand with construction while the veela decorated with such a dizzying amount of fussiness that the two factions had almost killed each other over swatches. It didn’t help that the giants were colour blind, leading to Winky of all people to mediate between the two like a bossy little foreman. The fact as she was the size of a giant’s toe didn’t seem to deter her and she could often be found scolding them for placing a joist in the wrong place or slacking off on breaks. She even wore a hardhat over her bat-like ears, which was so cute that Merlin couldn’t stop himself from snapping a photo.

In addition to the housing infrastructure, Gaius had installed a makeshift clinic to tend to injured beings while Newt had done the same with the beasts. An enthusiastic Hagrid -- who had been joyously reunited with Grawp (the latter of whom refused to let Hagrid off his shoulder for a full week) -- had happily volunteered to be Newt’s assistant. He had grown back a considerable amount of his hair and beard and was looking closer to his old self with every passing day.

Kilgharrah had also become a frequent visitor and could usually be found sitting back on his haunches as he sternly ran through the alphabet with the dragons. Merlin, who had been a teacher for most of his long life, felt a smug sense of satisfaction as the majority of the dragons played up for Kilgharrah, with half of them unashamedly snoring during his lessons. Egan in particular had snored so loudly that he had almost set the new vampire enclosure alight with a wayward fireball, causing a bunch of shrieking vampires to transform into bats and flutter behind Grawp, whose gigantic shadow gave them some shade.

It was brilliant. It was also so exhausting that Merlin passed out during the final meal of the year, only waking up when Neville Longbottom thoughtfully tapped him on the shoulder before he drowned in his soup.

Even as he made his way to Gaius’ hospital wing for their annual farewell, Merlin’s body ached. He winced with every movement he made because banshees -- who had nails stronger and more deadly than hippogriff talons -- were real huggers when they were given a soundproof house to shriek in to their heart’s content. 

Limping up the corridor, Merlin had just been debating with himself whether to just ask Gaius to knock him out and ship him home in a trunk when Arthur showed up.

"Professor Emrys!" Arthur had called out. He was wearing his travelling cloak and was rolling his trunk behind him as he huffed towards Merlin, a little red-cheeked.

"Arthur, what are you doing here? You should already be on your way to Hogsmeade to get back home,” Merlin said, confused. A few seconds later, an indifferent looking Morris followed behind with the energy of a sleepwalking flobberworm. He was pulling his own trunk while also balancing a covered dinner tray in his other hand, letting out a yawn so wide someone could have thrown a quaffle through it.

“Hello Morris, why is Arthur making you carry around his dinner?" Merlin asked because that was a little extreme, even for Arthur’s infamous bossiness.

"Oh no, this isn't for me, it's for you," Arthur said cheerfully before pointedly staring at Morris, clearly communicating something they had no doubt planned previously. Morris, who could have only looked more bored if he were actually asleep, handed over the plate unceremoniously towards Merlin. "It's chicken!" Arthur elaborated brightly when Merlin took the plate in confusion. "I made it myself. Well," he amended when Merlin gave Arthur a dubious look, "Winky made it for me as a favour but I told her exactly what I wanted."

"That's... very thoughtful, Arthur," said Merlin, more than a little perplexed as he looked down at the plate. It was a very nice meal and, for some strange reason, someone had cut all his potatoes into the shape of a heart. Before he could dwell on the implications of this, however, Arthur suddenly said,

"Oh, I almost forgot the best part," and thrust a slightly wilted rose in Merlin’s direction. A couple of wrinkled petals, which had clearly given up on life, promptly fell sadly to the floor like casualties of spore. Taking the rather pathetic stem, Merlin wondered exactly which of Professor Longbottom’s greenhouses it had been swiped from. “Anyway, I better go before we miss the train home. See you next year, Professor Emrys!"

Arthur then grabbed Morris, who had been boredly picking his nails, and bodily hauled him with him down the hall.

Looking back at the plate, Merlin had the horrible feeling he was missing something important. He then shrugged and popped a heart-shaped potato in mouth, chewing on it cheerfully as he headed to Gaius to share his meal.

Gaius loved chicken.


	13. Year Five: The Lady Out of the Lake

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**2009**

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By Arthur’s fifth year at Hogwarts, his year group was in such a mad scramble of hormones that it was a wonder anyone came out of it with their clothes still on.

Gwen and Lancelot kept having public break ups and make ups, Gwaine had so many girlfriends he had genuinely forgotten who most of them were and Morgana had left so many broken hearts in her wake that Merlin almost felt like another plague had hit the school.

And it wasn’t just them. When the students weren’t sticking their tongues down each others’ throats or sobbing over unrequited love, they were enamoured by the newest member of staff who, to Merlin’s delight, was none other than Freya.

When Freya had shown up at Hogwarts that year, as beautiful as ever, Merlin felt a tug at his heart like a war wound, as though the place where her death had broken it still couldn’t be sewn back together. This incarnation of Freya had come to Hogwarts as a Care of Magical Creatures Professor to replace Hagrid, and she only needed to take one look at Merlin for her eyes to sparkle with love and warmth. 

“Hello, my darling,” she had whispered knowingly. Merlin had tried to be cool. He had even turned his head at the angle where he was once told his ears almost looked like a normal size. One look at her smile, however, made him break, causing him to pull her into the tight hug as he proceeded to blubber all over her. Being the kind soul she always was, Freya forgave the snot in her hair.

“I was in a lake for centuries, my love, I can handle it,” she shushed him gently, wiping his tears away with the pads of her thumbs. She then let her hand tenderly cradle his face, looking pained by whatever she saw in his eyes. “Oh Merlin… it’s been hard for you all these years, hasn’t it?”

“This makes it worth it,” Merlin had returned, placing his hand over the one on his cheek, his fingers grasping almost desperately at her own to check she was real, warm and _alive_. He had missed her so fiercely he almost didn’t know what to do now she was here. Freya soon rectified that by ignoring his bumbling to take his arm and instruct him to give her a tour of Hogwarts, which concluded with half the portraits following her around with flowers and even the Bloody Baron himself blushing translucently when she paid his ruffle a compliment.

By the time class had started, half the school were in love. Merlin was hardly surprised. Back in Camelot, he had fallen in love with her within a day. He had even told her as much, which had made Freya laugh modestly.

“You were always so sweet,” she had said over lunch at the head table, somehow managing to eat a chicken leg demurely as her eyes sparkled with mirth. “But there is one person who isn’t my biggest fan.”

Merlin didn’t really need to ask who that was because he could already see Arthur sitting at the Gryffindor table, glaring at Freya as he stabbed at his food savagely, as though he was trying to liquify it by hand. Apparently, he had been causing Freya problems in class as well, talking back and being his previous insolent self. Merlin shook his head. Honestly, sometimes he really didn’t understand what set that boy off.

“Sorry about him, he was a pain for me when I started as well,” he condoled, patting her hand. From across the room, a plate seemed to crack down the middle loudly. “I thought he’d grown out of it but he’s clearly still hazing teachers like a juvenile delinquent. He’ll get better for you.”

Freya took a sip of water, a knowing sort of smile on her face.

“You know, Merlin, a lot of students have a thing for you,” she said in a light sort of voice, her eyes trailing over the Gryffindor table. 

Merlin tried to interject but, to his embarrassment, he knew that Freya had a point.

Because, even with Freya’s numerous charms, Merlin was still, unanimously, the professor the student body was most likely to profess their undying love to.

This was something Merlin was faced with directly every year on Valentine’s Day but this year really took the cake. That February 14th, Merlin’s office, quite frankly, looked like cupid had broken inside and then exploded in a fit of love inside of it. 

It was ridiculous, with colour-changing flowers, enchanted fairies sky-writing love messages with fairy dust and a dozen confused-looking puffskeins, who had been shaved to resemble the shapes of hearts. On Merlin’s desk, there were stacks of cards, emanating animated, heart-shaped bubbles and smelling so strongly of pot pourri that Archimedes was hiding under his wing and glaring at Merlin with a beady eye, as though this was some personal plot of Merlin’s to murder him with love.

Wincing as one of the love letters sprung to life like a Howler and began to recite a rather lurid poem to him, Merlin groaned, dropping his head in his hands. He had been getting these for five years but it really didn't get any less mortifying.

It was one of the reasons why Merlin had generally taken on the form of an elderly wizard in the past. Girls were less likely to fawn over Dragoon, something he had come to realise when wearing a younger, scruffier face during the nineteenth century had resulted in a marriage proposal from a painfully shy but brilliant student. Merlin had had to let the girl down gently and hoped she would get over it and continue down her promising career in literature. A few years later, when Merlin read her only novel and uncomfortably found parallels with his disguise and the look of a character called Heathcliff, he came to realise that she hadn't got over it as much as he had hoped.

Even Merlin’s brief stint as Professor Dolma in the seventies had come with none other than Argus Filch as an admirer. Merlin didn't know whether to be horrified or amused when the man literally started leaving mouldy chocolates and putrid-smelling flowers outside Dolma’s door; all covered in cat hair, naturally.

_"Ah, you appear to have an admirer, fine lady!" Sir Cadogan had said happily at the time, as though he was delighted Merlin had finally found such a suitable match._

_"Cadogan, for the last time, please don't call me fine lady," Merlin had groaned, before tugging at his skirts, which kept bunching in the most uncomfortable places._

So, all in all, in the grand scheme of things, Merlin had some experience with the raging hormones that flew around Hogwarts.

But it really was nothing compared to the frenzy that his true face had seemed to incite.

McGonagall had clearly known this would be a problem, even before Arthur had started at Hogwarts. The moment Merlin had shown her his real appearance, she had taken one look at him and said, almost wearily,

“Well, you’re certainly going to be popular.”

She had then asked him if this was the first time he had revealed his actual face as a professor. Merlin had admitted to her it was.

“A word of advice, Merlin,” she had said gravely, her tone so sombre that Merlin felt as though she was reading him his last will and testament, “beware of love potions.”

“Love potions?” Merlin had repeated, surprised. “Do you really think that’s likely, Minerva?”

McGonagall had looked him over again, her eyes trailing over him with a sharp but approving sort of appraisal behind her spectacles. If Merlin hadn’t known better, he would have said that Minerva McGonagall had just checked him out. Considering the fact that she was a total legend, he had never felt more flattered in his life.

“More than likely, I’m afraid,” she said sympathetically. 

And she wasn’t wrong. Within the first year of him starting with his actual appearance, he had had love potions, countless animated hearts in the margins of essays, breathless students asking for homework just to be close to him and a rotation of singing dwarves on Valentines Day, with about five of them just following him around and bellowing bad poetry over each other at him. Even now, the deep tenor of ‘His ears are as big as sparkling dinner plates…’ and ‘His cheekbones cut straight into my heart like Serpensortia’ really didn’t put Merlin in much of a romantic mood.

So Merlin had steeled himself, as he did every year, to look through the cards on his desk, bracing himself for which students he would have to let down gently.

When Arthur’s familiar chicken-scratch writing showed up in one of his cards, however, he almost fell over. The moment he found his legs again, he sprinted to Gaius, wheezing, his hair askew and his face panic-stricken. 

"Gaius! Emergency! I think- okay, I know this might sound crazy but I think Arthur might-"

"Have feelings for you?" Gaius said with a knowing, exasperated little smile, shaking his head. "My dear boy, I did wonder when you would finally notice. It’s been years. Freya and I started a pool.”

"You knew?!" Merlin demanded, feeling slightly betrayed. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Merlin, the entire student body and half the faculty know," Gaius said, lowering his tea and giving Merlin one of his many eyebrow quirks, the one he used when Merlin was being particularly dense. Merlin saw it at least once a day. 

“What do you mean half the faculty?!” Merlin cried out, feeling horrified. “Please don’t tell me Minerva knows.”

“Then I won’t tell you,” Gaius said snootily, reminding Merlin so much of Kilgharrah that he briefly felt terrified at the thought of them ever meeting and teaming up against Merlin together. If anything could kill Merlin, it would be their combined forces of disapproval. 

He then remembered the matter at hand.

Arthur had feelings for him. Arthur had a _crush_ on him. According to Gaius, Arthur had had a crush on him for _years_. 

Flustered, Merlin wasn't sure exactly how to react to this development. 

To be fair on Arthur, he was at that age where he would probably have shagged a Skiving Snack Box if it promised to offer him a good time but it was unnerving nevertheless. 

Merlin suddenly thought back to all those tutorial lessons, wondering if he had inadvertently done something to encourage him.

If it was his Arthur, things would have been different. His Arthur was older and Merlin had been shamelessly in love with him as it was. He had never had a chance in hell, of course, what with Gwen, Arthur's heterosexuality and the fact Merlin hadn't truly appreciated the depth of his feelings until Arthur was taken from him but the love had almost always been there. 

His Arthur had been a warrior and a king and had had to grow up so fast that Merlin often remembered feeling the weight on his shoulders like it was a physical burden. His Arthur had lead the knights before he was sixteen, headed his first dangerous campaign three years before that and had been king in everything but name well before his official ascension to the throne.

Present-day Arthur was the exact same age but was too busy fixing his hair and doing photo ops with sickly puppies. Not to mention that he still felt so young next to Merlin. 

The irony that Merlin finally had his love returned but by a different Arthur was not lost on him. He really did think someone was intentionally trying to screw with him here.

Lowering himself into the nearest chair, Merlin’s legs felt wobbly again. He had a feeling this was what going mad felt like. Putting his head between his knees, Merlin tried to breathe.

“Merlin, stop hyperventilating,” Gaius chastised. “Let me make you some tea.”

“I can’t believe this,” Merlin said to his left knee, squeezing his eyes closed. The room was spinning and he felt a little sick. Lifting up his head, he looked at Gaius seriously. “Three sugars please. And like... all the milk in the jug.”

“If you weren’t already immortal, diabetes would have killed you long ago,” Gaius remarked but he set about dutifully making Merlin a brew, lifting his wand so three sugar cubes could acrobatically plop their way into Merlin’s teacup like synchronised Olympic divers. “Honestly, I’m surprised at how surprised you seem to be about this. It’s simply history repeating itself.”

"Repeating itself?" Merlin replied, looking utterly baffled until the meaning behind the words slowly dawned on him. When they did, his jaw was so scandalised that it couldn't stop itself from dropping. "Wait, Gaius, you can't be trying to tell me that Arthur had feelings for me back in Camelot. You do remember Gwen, don't you? Black curls. Yeay high. Recently reincarnated? Blacksmith's daughter? Brilliant, beautiful Gwen who also happened to be the girl he loved. The girl he _married_."

"Merlin, I'm perfectly aware of who Gwen is," Gaius said tartly, sniffing with offence. He really was a bit of a diva sometimes. "I also know who it was that was destined to complete him, the person who he kept at his side for all those years."

Rubbing his eyes, Merlin sighed heavily.

“I’m going to have to talk to him and put a stop to this. This can’t be encouraged. I’ll speak to him about it when I see him for our next class. That should nip this in the bud, shouldn't it?”

Gaius’ left eyebrow looked unconvinced. Merlin should have known to trust it, it usually knew what was going on.

It turned out, it was right.

“So you’re saying you didn’t like my card, sir?” Arthur asked when Merlin tactfully broached the topic during their following tuition session, looking perplexed in a way that Merlin didn’t buy for a moment. “Well, that’s rude. I spent ages writing my message. I even bought nice ink for it and everything. It smelled like roses, did you notice?”

Gritting his teeth, Merlin rubbed his eyes. This wasn’t going as he had planned.

It didn’t help that Merlin’s office supplies, being the nosy gossips they clearly were, were watching their interaction with bated breath. The remembrall on his desk was especially curious, rolling around until it could get the best angle to watch the proceedings. Even Merlin’s portraits, the traitors, seemed to have invited other occupants to join them, like a captive audience at the screening of a play. Violet and the Fat Lady seemed to have commandeered the best view in the house and were eagerly making their way through a bowl of popcorn and whispering loudly to each other, like this was a spectator sport. Clenching his jaw, Merlin tried to ignore them all.

“Arthur,” Merlin said tersely, pretending he didn’t hear the munching to his left. “I’m being serious. You can’t go around sending love letters to your professors.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s inappropriate.”

“I thought you said honesty was the best policy. This is me being honest. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

Merlin gave him a withering look. He knew Arthur was being infuriating on purpose.

“This is the end of this, Arthur. Understood? No more gifts, no more love letters, no more flirting. I am your teacher. Is that understood?”

“Of course, professor,” Arthur said, looking as pure as the driven snow. He then smiled, his canines flashing, and Merlin immediately knew nothing had been resolved. “Would I lie to you?”

As it happened, he would, and quicker than even Merlin anticipated. 

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Madam Puddifoot’s wasn’t exactly Merlin’s favourite haunt but Freya had insisted on going.

Being as weak for her as he was, he folded quicker than a napkin.

They had just received their orders and had been fully reminiscing about their time in the underground tunnels in Camelot when an all too familiar voice cried out, 

"Professor Emrys, Professor Moon, fancy seeing you both in here!" 

It was Arthur, smiling about him rather manically as he sidled up to their table, still wearing his Quidditch gear.

"Arthur?" Merlin said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, practise got postponed by an hour. And who doesn't love tea and doilies?" he said breezily. Merlin, who knew for a fact that, as Captain, Arthur was the one who dictated when practise was shifted, narrowed his eyes suspiciously at this but was stopped from calling him on it when Arthur turned to Freya and said, "So, professor, how's tricks?" 

"Arthur, we're trying to have a private lunch." Merlin said sharply but Freya just smiled indulgently and waved this off.

"Oh, it's alright, Professor Emrys. Arthur, why don't you join us?"

"I really don't think-" Merlin began but Arthur had already grabbed a chair, sat down and had begun pouring the tea with those lightning quick Quidditch reflexes.

"So, how do you take it, Professor Emrys?" Arthur asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"What?" Said Merlin, flustered.

"Your tea," Arthur said with faux innocence, blinking with wide eyes. "One lump or two?" 

Merlin hated himself slightly for the flush spreading across his cheeks.

"Black, no sugar," he lied categorically.

“Coming right up,” Arthur responded brightly, his large fingers looking ridiculous as they clasped around the delicate little teaspoon and stirred so vigorously that Merlin was sure the bone China would crack. 

Arthur then plopped three sugars and a large amount of milk into the teacup before holding it out to Merlin, smiling at him innocently. 

The fact he knew how Merlin took his tea surprised him more than it should have. The fact that Arthur was serving Merlin _at all_ was crazy enough by itself. The man could barely wipe his arse by himself in Camelot.

Taking the cup suspiciously, Merlin sniffed it to check Arthur hadn’t somehow managed to curdle the milk or use cyanide instead of sugar. When Merlin sipped it and realised it tasted fine, he thought it was impressive how hot the tea was considering that hell had just frozen over.

“So is this a date?” Arthur asked with no shame at all as he looked between them, making Merlin choke mid-sip.

“Arthur!” he wheezed out, scolding him as best he could with a scalded tongue. He tried not to feel too betrayed by the fact Freya’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

“What have I told you about being inappropriate?”

“Sorry, sir,” he said, not looking sorry in the slightest. “I wouldn’t want to be punished by you. Anyway, I wanted to run something by you, and you always say it's good to be inquisitive, don’t you?”

Merlin wondered if he could suffocate himself with a tea cosy.

“What is it, Arthur?” he said wearily.

“There are prophecies about me, right?”

Merlin blinked. He hadn't expected that. Arthur had always been the loudest voice of dissent when it came to claims about him being the reincarnation of the legendary King Arthur. Merlin looked at Freya, who looked equally curious. 

“The consensus is that they are about you, yes,” he said slowly, wondering, where on earth this was going.

“And they say I have a soulmate right? Magic Himself, that’s what everyone says. And people reckon that’s Merlin - you know, the old wrinkly one, because of the whole Once and Future King thing, right?”

Merlin didn’t like where this was going.

“Again, it’s a theory…”

“And _your_ first name is Merlin, isn’t it, professor?”

“Who told you that?”

“It's true, isn’t it?” Arthur persisted. When Merlin didn’t deny it, Arthur beamed like the kneazle who had got the cream. 

“I’m not ‘Magic Himself, Arthur,” Merlin lied baldfacedly while Freya looked terribly interested in the flowery pattern on her china. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to wait for your hypothetical, wrinkly soulmate to appear.”

“Whatever you say, professor.” Arthur grinned, looking delighted, as though Merlin had confirmed all his deepest desires. “Anyway, I’ve got to run - got a Quidditch date with destiny. And everyone knows you can’t fight destiny. Bye now!”

And then he was gone as quickly as he arrived, with a swirl of robes and a whoosh of air. If Merlin didn’t know for a fact he couldn’t apparate, he would have been sure that was what had just happened.

Turning to Freya, Merlin immediately apologised.

"God, Freya. I'm so sorry. He's just-"

"Got an absolute monster of a crush," Freya said lightly, trying not to smile. "I know Merlin. I won the pool you know.” 

Merlin groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"This is mortifying." 

"I think it's sort of sweet," Freya said with a laugh. "I remember being sixteen and in love with you. I can hardly knock his taste."

"He'll get over it eventually."

Freya smiled at him gently.

“Oh Merlin, of course he won’t,” she said, an understanding and slightly melancholy look on her face. It was the sad sort of acceptance one wore when they watched a chance pass them by. “You heard it yourself - he’s your fate. The other half of your soul. You’re destined to be together. You have been since the beginning of time. I’ve always known I could never compete.”

“That’s not true!” Merlin argued heatedly. “You know how I feel about you-”

“And I know how you feel about Arthur,” Freya returned, her smile brittle but so brave. “You love him, Merlin. More than anyone. I know you can’t deny that.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re… it’s not a romantic bond, Freya,” he tried to explain, ignoring the tug in his heart that tried to convince him otherwise. “He’s my student.”

“A student who will eventually leave school and grow into a man. And we both know you love the man Arthur becomes,” Freya said gently. “Besides, you know these feelings of his won’t abate when he graduates. He has a fanclub and countless admirers but you’re the only one who he looks at.”

As much as Merlin blanched hearing it, he had a feeling that Freya was right. 

Arthur had always been popular with the girls (and many of the boys). Being the prince had its appeal and Merlin had honestly lost count at the amount of people who asked him out, from squealing fangirls like Vivian to even Myror, who looked likely to write Arthur a love note made out of his own entrails. 

Arthur had never said yes to any of them, however, boldly volunteering that information to Merlin, who didn’t ask.

 _“I’m waiting for the right one to notice me,”_ he had once said, looking at Merlin with that intense look he wore before battle. Merlin had been called dense by Gaius a million times but even Merlin couldn’t misinterpret that look. Arthur’s gaze was so piercing, so wanton, that it was a wonder Merlin’s underwear hadn’t spontaneously fallen to his ankles in surrender. His magic, being weak for Arthur, had almost (literally) fallen for it but Merlin himself still had enough dignity to be the adult in the room.

So he tried to ignore Arthur’s attraction to him, hoping if he blindly pretended it wasn’t happening that no one would notice.

Which of course was when Uther Pendragon, during a routine Governor meeting, turned to Merlin and bluntly said,

"So, my son is in love with you."

Panicked, Merlin had looked around his office wildly, looking for the nearest thing to brain himself with to avoid this conversation. His office supplies, being traitors who didn’t even have the loyalty to grievously injure their owner for the greater good, all took a significant step away from him.

Gulping as he accepted his fate, Merlin wondered if Uther would opt for death by decapitation or a good old fashioned stake burning.

"I... wouldn't exactly say he’s in love, your majesty…” Merlin tried to argue weakly. Uther twitched a brow. If that could have been distilled into a potion, the imperius curse would have been rendered redundant. 

"He talks about you constantly and has been writing terrible poetry about you and hiding it in his room. He's infatuated."

Merlin opened his mouth, at a loss for what to say. He really should have closed it before a doxy flew in and made a nest in his teeth but he was too busy gawping like the idiot Uther clearly believed he was. 

"Wait, I'm sorry- did you say Arthur was writing poetry? Deliberately?" Merlin said, trying to get his head around Arthur writing anything intentionally. Even back in Camelot, he didn’t even write his speeches as king, and as for the sorry state of his essays… after five years of tuition, the boy never seemed to get better. Merlin wondered if all those times he knocked him out in his previous incarnation had somehow carried over into this new life, like a hereditary disease. 

Uther looked at him as though clearly the only one with a brain affliction was Merlin. 

"You're a bad influence, Emrys,” he said. “You need to put an end to it.”

"Mr Pendragon, I promise you, I’ve already made things very clear with Arthur. I've not been encouraging any of this behaviour..."

"Well, of course you haven't, why do you still think you have a job? Not only do I trust McGonagall’s judgement but I know my son, he's always liked a challenge."

"Most students form some sort of attachment to a teacher..." Merlin defended Arthur weakly and it was true. He would know.

“Boys Arthur's age usually form attachments to a _female_ teacher," Uther suddenly said, pulling Merlin back to the conversation at hand. Uther then promptly gave Merlin a stern look, as thought Merlin had given Arthur the gay lurgy by accidentally sneezing on him. "Arthur knows his commitments and he knows he has to marry and produce an heir. His... fixation with you," Uther made the word sound like a cancerous lump, "mustn't ever be disclosed."

Merlin, who had a feeling that the majority of the school knew about Arthur's crush, thought it was a little too late for that. If the wilted flowers before class weren't enough, the constant deliveries of roast chicken would have sealed it. Merlin kept his mouth shut, however. The Uther in Camelot had frightened him. An Uther with magic and power, on the other hand, was probably the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his long life, and Merlin had been face to face with a dragon, a manticore, a griffin and, one memorable time, Margeret Thatcher.

The crush would go away, Merlin decided. It was bound to. Teenagers were fickle creatures, who fell in love at the drop of a witch’s hat. Merlin had been a professor long enough to see it. He recalled a young Lord Byron back in early 1800, who Merlin had caught canoodling with so many different people in the broom closet that the young romantic had literally run out of all the students in his year (he had also received so many hexes from spurned lovers that the Hospital Wing nurse at the time had a permanent bed reserved for him).

With this in mind, Merlin was sure Arthur would no doubt get over him. 

He didn’t realise it would be as quickly as the next day, however. He almost felt a little offended.

Sophia was as beautiful as ever and as Merlin eyed her suspiciously, he had to admit she did seem to like Arthur.

He had never seemed interested so the fact he suddenly was sort of blew Merlin’s mind a little.

Watching Arthur turn his charm onto someone other than Merlin felt odd. A weird feeling bubbled up in his chest that he didn’t want to pay attention to.

“I think he’s under a love spell,” he remarked to Gaius over breakfast, watching as Arthur draped his robes over a chilly Sophia’s shoulders.

“It looks like a crush to me Merlin. He’s a sixteen year old boy. They fall in love with everyone around them.”

Merlin frowned.

“But he’s… he’s been ignoring me.” Merlin hated the voice in his head that said he missed the attention.

Gaius gave him a frustrated look.

“Dealing with you is like dealing with the oldest teenager in the world," he sighed, sounding terribly sorry for himself.

“Hey!” Merlin said, offended. He knew for a fact that he was a delight. “Anyway, it not just that. He’s not been paying attention during our tuition.”

“You always complain he never pays attention," Gaius argued reasonably. Merlin hated it when he was reasonable.

“He’s not usually zoned out and smiling out the window like a brainless idiot.”

“He sounds like a man in love to me." 

"Or he sounds like a man under a love spell," Merlin shot back stubbornly, making Gaius exhale with so much frustration that it was a wonder he hadn't hacked up a lung. "Maybe it's a potion. Does he smell poisoned? You've got a good nose, what do you reckon?"

"That you smell of desperation," Gaius rebutted, looking at Merlin as though he might be the one who needed curing. “But fine, if you really want to do this, we're going to need some of his tears. I know a spell that combats most rudimentary love spells. I still think this is unnecessary, however.”

Merlin happily ignored the second part of what Gaius said, something Gaius himself wasn't surprised by in the slightest.

“So we need him to cry? Excellent!" Merlin said, clapping his hands with purpose and rubbing them together. He then cocked his head, wondering how on earth he was going to do it. "You know, Arthur isn’t much of a crier, Gaius.”

“Neither was Uther but we managed back in Camelot.” 

Merlin remembered. He also remembered exactly how they had done it. 

“So... wait, you want me to kill someone he loves?” he asked, slightly perturbed.

“ ‘Fake kill’, Merlin, please try not to add any more murder to the school year," Gaius said, sounding very tired. "In any case, I think we both know who it needs to be.”

“Come on, Gaius, can we not do that to Gwen? Not only is she my favourite person but she’s a student. Pretty sure that’s a fireable offense, no matter how much Minerva likes my cheekbones.”

Gaius looked up at the ceiling with annoyance, as though wondering why God hadn’t given him that strength he kept asking for. 

“I mean you, Merlin," he clarified, galled at having to explain himself.

“Me? Come on, Gaius," Merlin snorted, waving a hand with disbelief. "He has a crush - _had_ a crush - on me for a bit but I’m not that important to him.”

Gaius pursed his lips together so tightly that they almost disappeared entirely.

“You know," he said, underlining his irritation by rubbing his eyes tersely, "I really do wonder how you’ve managed to live so long with such a lack of self awareness. I suspect it's your thick skull."

Merlin pouted.

“You’re so mean today.”

“Here," Gaius said, ignoring his frown by handing him a vial with dark liquid inside it, "take this Draught of Living Death. A drop would render anyone unconscious but for you, I imagine a bout of mild paralysis.”

“What a relief,” Merlin said sardonically. Gaius gave him another look. Merlin had enough intelligence not to respond any further.

“Take some just before Arthur comes to your lesson. It should give you the appearance of death but you should hopefully be able to see and hear everything around you. You just… well, can’t move.”

“So it’ll feel like Petrificus Totalus?” Merlin asked. He felt uncomfortable being trapped in his own body like that, unable to move or speak as the world moved around him.

“Petrificus Totalus without a pulse, yes.”

“Excellent,” Merlin winced, dreading this already. “Honestly, Gaius, I really don’t think I’m the right person for this.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “If you want to do this, I'm afraid you’re the only person for this.” 

Merlin would have felt more confidence at the veracity of his words if Gaius hadn’t muttered, “God help us all,” immediately after.

Merlin would have felt more offended if he didn’t virulently agree.

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“Okay,” Merlin said, hands on his hips as he looked around at his office. “This is the main event, ladies and gents, so when I take this,” he pulled out the vial containing the Draught of Living Death. “I’ll appear to be dead.”

Immediately, his entire room seemed to spasm with tension. Desk drawers opened and shut like gaping mouths, Archimedes flapped his wings indignantly and Merlin’s hat stand, which had been standing stiffly straight, just toppled over, as though it had passed out with worry. 

Merlin raised his arms placatingly before his violently twisting curtains managed to asphyxiate themselves.

“It’s not real! Okay? Not real!” Merlin then picked up a paperweight that was trying to brain itself against a wall. Had it had eyes, Merlin was sure they would be blinking woozily. “It’s just a plan so please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t try to save me. Arthur needs to think I’m dead.”

One of the figures in his portraits lifted their hand to ask a question. 

To Merlin’s surprise it was Rowena Ravenclaw. All the founders seemed to be there, having commandeered Merlin’s portrait of the round table, sitting around the sparse table that still only included Gaius. Helga was sitting beside him, showing him the scarf she was knitting.

“Yes, Rowena?”

“Is this some sort of April Fool’s Day prank?” Rowena asked. “Because honestly, Merlin, it’s a little harsh.” 

“I agree,” Slytherin piped up before letting out a mean smile. "I approve wholeheartedly.”

“It’s not a prank,” Merlin tried to explain but before he could, Gryffindor huffed into the frame.

“He’s coming! Just rounding the corner. Merlin, take it now! Everyone hold position!” he bellowed like a seasoned soldier. 

“What position?” Helga seemed to ask in confusion, holding her knitting needles like weapons, but she soon quietened down when Merlin downed the potion in one go.

He felt it immediately, like liquid death itself, making his legs give out as he crashed to the floor. His loyal footstool tried to reach him but Merlin held out a shaky hand imploring his things to stay still and behave for once. Within a few seconds, that same hand flopped bonelessly to Merlin’s side, senseless and still.

It felt like poison was pulsing through his blood, turning his insides tar black, oily and bitterly cold. Merlin had barely registered that his limbs were seizing because he couldn't feel them. He couldn’t feel _anything_. Not his motionless limbs or his lips. Not even his still eyelids. As he lay stiffly on his back, all he had were his eyes and ears, the former rigidly fixed on the ceiling while the latter made him feel like he was swimming underwater. Noises distorted as they echoed around his head but Merlin still managed to hear the sound of a door opening and a familiar set of footsteps shuffling in. Merlin would actually have to be dead not to recognise that gait.

“Can we hurry this up?” Arthur’s voice came out, still managing to sound bored despite the distortion. “I have a date with Sophia and I don’t want to be- professor?”

Although Merlin's eyes were locked ahead of him, he could see Arthur from the corner of his eye, his school bag dropping to the feet, his quill and inkwell smashing to the floor. Merlin felt a spray of ink hit his robes and hoped they wouldn’t stain. He really liked these robes. The tailor had died a century back -- a young fellow from Basingstoke called Thomas Burberry -- and Merlin still couldn't find anyone who could magically stitch an inseam quite the way he used to.

Arthur's frantic face suddenly came into view, looking directly down into Merlin’s glassy eyes.

“Professor? This… this isn’t funny. Is this a joke? A test? Stop messing around. Wake up,” he said shakily, almost angrily as he tried to pull Merlin up by the hand. When Merlin’s hand flopped lifelessly back to his side, Arthur’s complexion went paler than Merlin’s. Frantically looking for a pulse, Arthur let in a shaky inhale when he felt nothing under his fingertips but cold, icy skin. When Arthur lifted his head back up to look at Merlin, a tear fell down onto his cheek, his face perplexed, as though he couldn’t fathom what was happening. “No…” he said, his voice raspy as it tore itself out of his throat. He sounded absolutely wrecked. He placed a palm flat down on Merlin’s chest, desperately trying to find a heartbeat. “No, this isn’t happening…”

Merlin thought a part of him might enjoy watching this but it just reminded him of how he had reacted to Arthur’s death. It made him feel sick. He wanted to move with all his might but the potion was strong and would no doubt last the full hour Gaius had predicted. 

Merlin tried to move his lips, tried to see if he could reach Arthur, move his fingers to touch him but he was locked in his body. 

_Arthur_.

As though he had heard him, Arthur snapped his eyes back to Merlin’s, his face completely tear-streaked. But that wasn’t the most shocking sight. His eyes were glowing gold and the hand he had on Merlin’s chest seemed to be glowing as well. 

A feeling of liquid warmth seeped through Merlin’s skin, tingling over him like gentle ripples of lightning.

Arthur was _healing_ him. Merlin didn’t even know it was possible this way around but he could feel it, could feel how Arthur’s magic was eradicating the poison from Merlin’s veins. 

Merlin let out a gasp of a noise when his body finally came back to him. Arthur stared at him with huge, stunned eyes, as though he had never seen a sight so beautiful before. 

He soon remedied that brief moment of care and affection, however, to smack Merlin soundly on the chest ten seconds later.

“Ow! What the hell. Do you want detention?!” Merlin almost wailed, although the heaviness of his tongue made him sound like he was communicating in whale. Even his lips were drooping, on the cusp of lulling themselves back to sleep again.

Somehow, Arthur seemed to understood Merlin's incoherent cries because he retorted back, just as furious.

“Never do that to me again!” Arthur yelled before -- to Merlin’s surprise -- throwing his arms around Merlin, the wetness of his face burying into Merlin’s neck.

Merlin should have told him off. After all, it was highly inappropriate for a student to go around just hugging their teachers willy-nilly but the relief flooding out of Arthur made him hold on a second longer than he needed to. 

When they eventually pulled apart, Arthur went bright pink, looking mortified to have shown emotion. Wiping his face in as manly a fashion as he could, Arthur coughed and rolled his shoulders, as though that show of machismo would somehow erase the sobbing hug that had just transpired. He even pulled out a handkerchief and patted down the damp spot on Merlin’s robe where Arthur’s snot and tears had stained. Before he did anything more to showcase his indifferent masculinity -- like suddenly doing a hundred push-ups or punching the nearest thing just because he could -- Merlin cut across him.

“Arthur, what just happened?”

Arthur blinked, looking lost himself.

“You were dead but… I cured you? How is that possible?”

Merlin didn’t know how to respond without giving everything away so he shakily lifted himself up onto a sitting position, his muscles feeling weak. He could have honestly slept for another month. 

“I suppose I owe you now,” he said with a trembling smile, running a shaky hand through his own sweat-soaked hair. 

“You can owe me by not dying, how about that?” Arthur said mulishly, crossing his arms over his chest with irritation. Honestly, how the boy managed to make himself the victim in Merlin’s death was an impressively Arthur-like thing to do.

“Promise, next year - no more surprises.”

Arthur just groaned.

“Oh God, we’re all going to die next year now, aren't we?”

“I hope not. I’ve got tickets to the World Cup.”

Snorting, Arthur picked up his discarded school bag before looking curiously at the items that had fallen out. A greeting card sat at his feet. Picking it up, Arthur looked at the name on it before scoffing, scribbling something with his quill and handing it over to Merlin.

“Happy Valentines, professor,” he said.

“It’s June,” Merlin said with befuddlement. Arthur just grinned.

“Yeah but the sentiment’s the same.” With one last long, searching look, he headed out the door, leaving Merlin to ponder what that meant. 

He looked down at the card.

‘Professor Emrys’ had been scribbled out, then ‘Sophia’ had been scribbled out and then ‘Professor Emrys’ had been added hastily again.

“We’re destiny!” the singing card warbled, the magic in it obviously fading because it sounded like a dying cat. 

Merlin smiled at it a little sadly.

“We really are,” he said.


	14. Year Six: The Triwizard Tournament

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**2010**

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When the Triwizard Tournament was reintroduced in Arthur’s sixth year at Hogwarts, Merlin didn't need the Goblet of Fire to know who the Hogwarts champion would be. 

If you asked him, the entire thing was a terrible idea, from start to finish. 

From the very first Triwizard tournament in the late 13th century to the bloodiest one in 1792 (where Merlin had had to step in and knock out a particularly foul-tempered cocatice before it went on a rampage and killed everyone in the crowd), the entire thing seemed nothing more than a glorified death trap. It reminded Merlin of the endless tourneys in Camelot, where braindead people would throw themselves into senseless danger (read: Arthur) all for a temporary sense of grandeur and a shiny trophy.

Even when the Triwizard Tournament had been reinstated in 1994, a student had died once again. The event was obviously cursed and Merlin frankly had been happy to see the back of it, delighted that he wouldn’t have to watch Arthur once again throw himself into pointless peril.

And then Uther and his fellow governors insisted on reintroducing it exactly when Arthur became of age to take part. Merlin could have wept. 

Uther maintained the tournament would raise the morale of the school and encourage global magical cooperation. 

Considering that half the school had family missing, dwindling magic and were living in a sense of abject fear at all times, Merlin sincerely doubted that a trite little competition would be the distraction people needed. 

The decision was out of Merlin’s hands, however, and he felt a constant sick pit in his stomach as he eyed the Goblet of Fire sitting in the middle of the Great Hall, its blue flames dancing almost mockingly at him. 

Because he knew exactly whose name would be spat ceremoniously out of it. 

Even the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions were obvious to Merlin the moment they entered the Great Hall during the welcoming ceremony. He just needed to take a look at Morgause in her tailored blue uniform and Cenred in his furs and leathers to know who would be chosen.

And he wasn’t wrong. Even so, Merlin still winced when Minerva looked down at the paper the Goblet had floated over to her and called out,

“Arthur Pendragon!”

The entire hall had erupted into cheers, with Gwaine whistling so loudly that Merlin was sure that everyone in close proximity had gone temporarily deaf. Arthur himself had grinned around him as he got to his feet, trying to look modest and failing completely as he shook hands with his fellow students as he walked to the front of the hall.

It was bad enough he thought he was a rockstar. The fact everyone else seemed to concur just made Merlin want to bang his head against the nearest wall, especially when Arthur threw back his hair and gave Merlin a smug look as he passed by the head table.

Watching Arthur exit to the trophy room, that awful feeling in Merlin’s stomach turned from a pit into an endless, spiralling chasm. This was going to go terribly wrong. He could feel it. His _magic_ could feel it. 

The feeling was so intense that Merlin had barely waited for the ceremony to finish before cornering Minerva and resolutely saying,

"You can't let him compete. The last time these games happened, a student died!" Then, because he knew his manners, he bowed his head deferentially and said, “Headmistress.”

"Merlin," Minerva sighed, which by itself was enough to make Merlin stop short. Minerva rarely talked to him in that sort of weary tone. It was obvious she was as against this as he was. “You know it’s a binding contract. It’s out of my hands.”

“He’ll get himself killed,” he tried to argue heatedly but just the thought put him in so much dread he could feel his voice shaking.

Minerva looked at him with sympathy. He didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse.

“If he’s what the prophecy says he is, you know that won’t happen,” she said, in a voice that was as kind and stern as she herself was.

“The prophecy might be wrong!” Merlin tried to point out, feeling panic overcome him again. He hoped he didn’t sound hysterical but the pitch of his voice was high enough to have called wild dogs to him.

Minerva frowned, her forehead wrinkling in a way that looked like it was being terribly inconvenienced by this conversation.

“Have prophecies of this kind and magnitude been wrong before?” she prompted, fully well knowing the answer. Merlin knew it too. It was the main reason he frowned back so miserably in response. How someone that much younger than him could make him feel like a toddler having a tantrum showed just how wise Minerva was (it also said something about Merlin’s own maturity levels but to solidify that point, he chose to ignore that fact).

“I can’t talk to you when you’re all calm and rational,” he grumbled, nothing else left in his arsenal.

“Then it’s a wonder we’ve ever had a conversation.” Minerva responded back tartly. Merlin had an urge to respond with ‘touche’. “Merlin, he’ll be fine. The tournament is only limited to two tasks this year. In any case, he has you to protect him, doesn't he?” Minerva gave him a pointed look over her spectacles. Merlin thought that was a low blow but McGonagall was nothing if not shrewd. She really would have made an excellent Slytherin. 

“I’m just…” Merlin paused, almost embarrassed to articulate his next words but powering through regardless. “I’m _scared_ for him, Minerva.”

Minerva McGonagall’s face softened. Even her tight bun seemed to loosen a little with empathy.

“Then prepare him,” she said simply, as thought it was that easy. “You’re still capable of that, Merlin. Who could be a better teacher to him than you? You’ve already been assigned as his tutor. I’m sure you can set aside some time for him to learn some more practical spells.”

Merlin nodded slowly, the idea forming in his mind.

He would teach Arthur. That was the only thing he _could_ do - the only thing that could work.

Merlin would prepare the royal pain in his backside for every spell he might need, from breathing underwater in the Great Lake to fighting off a horde of inebriated Cornish pixies armed with explosives (Triwizard Tournament - circa 1547).

Feeling determined, Merlin thanked Minerva for her words of wisdom and headed back to his office, spells and lessons running through his mind as though he was mentally flicking through pages of his spellbook. 

He would get Arthur to learn everything he needed to, even if it killed them both. Unfortunately, they were severely limited on time. They would need to get started right away.

Luckily for Merlin, Arthur was already sitting in his office when he got there.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" Arthur had asked, his smile huge as he sat on Merlin’s desk like he owned it, swinging his long legs. He looked so damn proud of himself. Merlin would have scoffed at the prat’s insistence on constantly throwing himself into unnecessarily dangerous situations if it wasn't for the fact it had actually killed him once. The cool touch of Arthur’s corpse still haunted Merlin to this day. 

"This isn’t a game, Arthur,” Merlin had tried to say sharply but he could hear the panic leaking back into his voice. “Do you understand that? This is dangerous."

Arthur threw back his head with a smirk, his golden hair shining like a halo despite the fact he was clearly a demon sent from hell to drive Merlin around the bend.

"You know, professor, If I didn't know better, I'd say you were worried,” he said, sounding a little too self-important for Merlin’s liking.

Merlin always worried about Arthur but he didn't say it aloud. There was so much he couldn't say aloud. 

“I’m _worried_ you’re not taking this seriously,” Merlin responded tersely, crossing his arms. Arthur just snorted. It made Merlin want to wallop the back of his head for his insolence. “This isn’t funny, Arthur. This won’t be easy. You can’t be complacent about this. These trials can stump even the most seasoned wizard. You need to study your clues properly. You can’t just halfarse this and expect someone to sort it out for you. You’ll also need a support system to help you, you’re allowed to ask your peers for help.”

“That’s why I have you, isn’t it?” Arthur responded, turning to Merlin. His eyes stared deeply into Merlin’s own, as though he could see right into Merlin’s soul, the one Arthur had always had a claim on.

Merlin averted his gaze, not wanting to dwell on the implications of that look. 

“I’m not allowed to decipher the clues for you,” he said instead. “I can only help train you. It’s not like I can get into the ring with you, Arthur.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already got another ring reserved for you,” Arthur responded back with barely a pause, a frankly scandalous smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. 

Flushing, Merlin cursed his pale skin for betraying him. He never knew what to do when Arthur got overly flirtatious.

 _“Arthur,”_ Merlin rebuked.

For once, Arthur didn’t push the point. He just waved a blase hand instead.

“Come on, can’t you just be happy for me? I thought you’d be proud.” He then blinked at Merlin with big doe eyes. This boy really was the devil incarnate.

“You look deranged like that, stop it,” Merlin said, pointedly not staring at him. Arthur had clearly noticed because he was at obscene levels of self satisfaction. “Now, when is the first task?”

It turned out the first task would be in a week, which was nothing short of terrifying to Merlin.

“Right, we had better get started then,” Merlin had said, physically pulling up his sleeves. “The first few volumes of _So You Think You Can Duel?_ should be a good start.”

Then waving his hands like a conductor would to an orchestra, Merlin let out a flourish of an arm movement. Almost at once, a shimmering gold glow trickled across Merlin’s bookshelves, causing the books that were napping (and sagging with crooked spines) to straighten up to attention like military officers. They then marched through the air in single file, dutiful and organised as they ended their synchronised march by falling in neat piles on Merlin’s desk. By the end of the spell, two dozen books sat gleaming back at Arthur. 

Arthur looked a little terrified, more frightened by the concept of reading than being attacked by a dangerous beast of some sort. 

After finishing the first book, he looked mildly bored. After finishing the fifth, he looked like he was going to cry.

“Come on, are you trying to murder me?” Arthur groaned, looking drained as Merlin pushed another book in front of him, this one doing a shimmy to seduce Arthur into picking it up. “I’ll die of exhaustion before whatever monster they put in front of me rips off my head.”

Merlin clucked his tongue, unmoved.

“Stop talking and memorise these spells instead,” he said with zero sympathy. The shimmying spellbook, eager to please Merlin, pushed itself into Arthur’s arm like one of the persistent fans in Arthur’s fanclub, clinging to him with love. After three minutes of trying to elbow it away, Arthur gave up, letting out a pitiful sort of cry.

“This is the first task, isn’t it? It’s already started. Torturing me to death with homework?” he asked the book miserably. Despite having no shoulders, the book still somehow managed to shrug. Arthur threw up his hands. “Okay, I forfeit. This is too hard.”

“Unfortunately, you can’t forfeit,” Merlin spat out almost resentfully because honestly, what kind of a stupid clause was that to give to school children? The Triwizard Tournament was ridiculous. “And no more talking or I’ll take twenty points from Gryffindor.”

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled out in betrayal.

“ _Professor Emrys_ ,” Merlin corrected, despite the happy jolt his heart gave at hearing his name being said in Arthur’s familiar voice. 

“Professor _Merlin_ Emrys,” Arthur said, the cabbagehead. Merlin gave him a withering look which for some reason, only made Arthur’s smile grow wider. “So, are we done now? Not that I don’t love being your prisoner, professor, but I need my beauty sleep. How else am I going to convince you to eventually run away with me?”

Narrowing his eyes, Merlin opened his mouth with irritation.

“First of all-”

“Inappropriate behaviour, I know,’ Arthur conceded, arms up in surrender. “I’ll keep the pining to a minimum, sir. Anything else?”

Pursing his lips, Merlin gave Arthur an unimpressed glower before lifting his wand again. For a split second, Arthur looked a little worried, as though wondering if he had finally caused Merlin to snap and cast the Killing Curse on him. 

As tempting as it was, Merlin pointed his wand towards his bookshelf again.

“Before you go, let me give you a little light bedtime reading. You really should go over the basic rules of transfiguration again. _Yoohoo,_ boys!” Merlin called out, watching with satisfaction as all 8 editions of _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ floated towards them. Arthur’s eyes widened as though they were bludgers, ready to knock him out one after the other. 

“You really are trying to murder me, aren’t you?” Arthur asked seriously, his face ashen as the books landed in front of him in a towering stack. By the time they had all touched down, Merlin could only see the top of Arthur’s blond head.

“I”m trying to save you, you spoiled prince,” Merlin returned. “Now, make sure you finish those off by the next time I see you. We have a long way to go.”

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On the day of the first task, Merlin didn’t know who was more nervous, Arthur or himself.

“You,” Gaius had confirmed, licking on an ice cream as they sat in the Quidditch stands. He looked almost offensively serene about all this. “You’ve quite literally been pulling your hair out all week, Merlin. You've given yourself bald spots.”

“How are you so calm right now?” Merlin said, his voice a little garbled due to the fact his knuckles were pressed hard against his mouth in terror.

“I have faith in Arthur,” Gauis said, sounding profound. The effect of his words was lost slightly when he crunched on a dozen colour-changing sprinkles, his tongue going from blue to neon pink.

“Don’t look so worried, professor!” Gwaine had remarked from where he was perched behind Merlin and Gaius. Leaning over so his head was between them, his white teeth shone starkly against his red face paint as his hair continued to defy physics by flopping perfectly across his forehead. 

Merlin then looked at him properly and frowned. Gwaine was shirtless, a big painted R on his chest. 

“Gwaine, where on earth is your shirt?” he demanded. “It’s the middle of November. You’re going to freeze.”

“We’re being supportive, Professor Emrys! I stripped for solidarity!” he said before pointing at his chest with no shame at all and saying. “I’m the ‘R’. Leon’s the ‘A’, Lancelot’s the ‘T’, Elyan’s the ‘H’ and Percy’s the ‘U’.”

“What about the other ‘R’?” Merlin asked, looking at the shivering boys behind him, who waved back at Merlin sheepishly, just as shirtless. Lancelot looked both cold and embarrassed by the stunt but Gwen’s rather shameless leer at him seemed to cheer him up. Elyan gagged while rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Oh, Morris has gone to get snacks,” Gwaine explained cheerfully, grinning about him like a loon. He seemed surprisingly optimistic, all things considered. 

Leon in comparison, looked a little green with nerves. As Arthur’s best friend (and previous head knight) Merlin had a feeling Leon still had that instinct to always protect his king. Watching from the sidelines really wasn’t in his comfort zone. It didn’t help that Arthur’s fanclub , which had printed t-shirts with Arthur’s face on them, kept poking at Leon and grilling him for information, as though he was the key to their everlasting marital bliss. One girl in particular seemed to have fashioned a wedding dress out of toilet paper and spellotape. It was a creative marvel. Merlin commended her on the detailing on her bouquet.

“It’s starting,” Gaius commented as trumpets suddenly blasted across the arena. 

The chattering voices across the stadium hushed themselves into silence, soft murmurs of anticipation rippling across the crowd.

“Circe, they’re really milking this, aren’t they?” Morgana’s voice called out dryly somewhere over Merlin’s right shoulder. One of boys in Arthur’s fanclub vociferously shushed her.

Merlin pulled out his omnioculars, his hands already shaking as he raised them to his eyes. Someone had stepped out onto the pitch to present the tournament and Merlin was pleasantly surprised to see it was his ex-student Lee Jordan. After the war, Lee had gone on to become one of the leading voices in sports journalism, something Merlin wasn’t surprised by in the slightest considering his Quidditch commentary back when he was at Hogwarts. How that boy had survived into adulthood with the amount of Slytherins he had out for his blood was a miracle in itself.

“Ladies and Gentleman!” Lee called out, his smile not as bright and infectious as it had once been. Merlin remembered a time when his own lips used to curve automatically in response to the other boy’s without his control. It appeared as though Lee was going through the motions. He was clearly as big of a fan of the Triwizard Tournament as Merlin. “Welcome to the Triwizard Tournament! Our Champions’ First Task is to best the creature they have been assigned! Will it be a Bastet? Or a Sphinx? Time will soon tell! The Champion that defeats their creature in the shortest amount of time gets maximum points! Let the games begin! First up, the challenger from Durmstrang - Cenred! And his opponent - the terrifying Bloodmist!”

To Merlin’s horror, the ‘terrifying Bloodmist’ turned out to be a centaur. Two wizards had a rope around his neck and were yanking him violently into the stadium against his will. The centaur struggled, his hind legs thrashing violently, his face almost purple. 

Merlin found himself on his feet, ready to jump down into the stadium itself but Gaius had grabbed his arm, shaking his head. 

“Not here, Merlin,” he whispered frantically. “Not with this many children present. Do you want this to turn into a riot?” 

“Children shouldn’t be watching this at all,” Merlin snapped back, bile rising in his throat as he watched Cenred circle the centaur, a look of ecstatic aggression on his face. “This tournament isn’t about Wizarding prowess. This is just a hunter’s blood den. This is a colosseum. They’re just killing them for sport. For entertainment.”

Gaius didn’t deny it.

“Merlin, don’t watch,” he said gently instead, knowing that it chipped away at Merlin’s magic -- at his very _essence_ \-- every time he witnessed something like this. 

But Merlin watched, even as Cenred ferociously stabbed the centaur in the eye with a flying shard of magic, a sort of crazed blood-lust on his face. After a few more savage swipes of his wand, Cenred had Bloodmist thrashing in agony on the floor, his four legs spasming as he clung desperately for life in a pool of his own blood. When Bloodmist finally stopped moving, his cold dying eyes seemed to look directly at Merlin, almost accusingly. 

“Good God,” Percy could be heard behind Merlin, sounding ill. He wasn’t the only one. A few of the members of Arthur’s fanclub were openly crying and even Morgana, who had been making snide comments throughout, had stopped speaking, looking pale and angry.

And it only seemed to get worse after that. 

Morgause has been assigned a pair of hags and alternated between humiliating them and torturing them. With a wave of her wand, Morgause had stripped the hags down to their underwear just to let the crowd laugh and jeer at their bodies. She had even shaken them up and down like ragdolls with her wand, spinning them like pinwheels and making them perform synchronised stunts and acrobatics that made their bones crack audibly. It felt like it lasted hours. Merlin honestly couldn’t watch most of it, dropping his head into his hands, praying this would end soon.

Before Morgause could land the killing blow, however, Lee Jordan had stepped forward and blown on his whistle, declaring that Morgause had run out of time. Looking down at his own watch and realising she still had ten seconds, Merlin was tempted to jump down to throw his arms around the man for his kindness.

And then it was Arthur’s turn. 

Merlin almost couldn’t watch. There were no good options here. It was either Arthur’s death or another creature of magic. There was nothing Merlin wouldn’t do for Arthur but watching him kill one of Merlin’s kin would destroy him.

That is, if Arthur even won. What if he was bested in combat? Merlin imagined a whole host of dangerous creatures as Arthur’s task. A giant Basilisk, curling around him and squeezing him to death, or an enormous serket, raining him with jabbing stings, full of vicious venom, killing him brutally of poisoning. They were dangerous creatures but they were still creatures of magic that Merlin didn’t want to die.

How could he save them both?

The answer soon came to Merlin when he saw the creature Arthur had to duel being dragged into the ring.

The relief in Merlin was almost overwhelming as he sagged into his chair, his bones almost melting inside him.

It was a dragon, and not just any dragon. It was the Hungarian Horntail that Harry Potter himself had fought back during his own Triwizard Tournament. Back then, she had been a prickly thing when you started up a conversation with her (and she really did enjoy the taste of human flesh an obscene amount) but she was still a _dragon._

No one had to die. Merlin could command a dragon.

So, opening his mouth, he was ready to do just that when Kilgharrah’s voice suddenly spoke in his head.

_Let him do this, Merlin_

Merlin felt blind panic envelop him, watching Arthur’s usually broad form looked tiny in comparison to the towering beast. She could have fried him to a crisp at any moment. 

_No_ , Merlin thought desperately at Kilgharrah. Merlin had to make sure Arthur was safe and as a dragonlord he could do that, he could turn this game to their advantage-

 _You help Arthur with his destiny. You don’t create it for him_ , Kilgharrah chastised, somehow managing to roll his eyes even in his tone, even in Merlin’s own head. _Let the Once and Future King show who he truly is._

Walking carefully towards the dragon, Arthur’s wand arm was sure and steady. He was wearing a dragonhide set of robes that reminded Merlin of the leather jerkin Arthur would wear on his hunting trips. He looked determined and his stance was confident as he circled the Horntail, his expression so similar to his game-face back in Camelot that Merlin could almost see his armour glinting back at him, Excalibur in his hand. Evidently, Arthur was a born warrior in every lifetime. 

Noticing her prey, the Horntail approached Arthur almost curiously, sniffing him like a giant dog. Her huge, scaly body seemed to wrap around him, bringing Merlin to mind of that Basilisk vision he had just had. She then let out a big, breathy exhale, plumes of smoke coming out of her nose to rustle Arthur’s hair.

Arthur seemed to see something in her eyes because he slowly lowered his wand, as though having an epiphany. Had Merlin been standing, his knees would have given out from under him.

“Oh God, I can’t deal with this,” Merlin said weakly, leaning onto poor Gaius, who looked ready to keel over himself. 

Moving her massive head close to Arthur’s own, the Horntail looked at Arthur sharply with a beady eye bigger than Arthur’s fist. She then gave him one last appraising look before opening her mouth to reveal a sharp set of teeth. 

_She’s going to bite his head off_ , Merlin thought with horror.

But she didn’t. She did something Merlin never in a million years would have imagined. One minute the Horntail looked like she was going to swallow Arthur’s face whole. The next, her giant forked tongue had come out to lick a long, slimy line down Arthur’s cheek. Before Merlin could work out if this was a pre-dinner palate cleanser, the dragon rolled over onto her back like a cat and imperiously gave Arthur her stomach for a bellyrub.

“Holy shit,” Gwaine said from behind Merlin as they watched Arthur grin and give the dragon an excellent rub on the tummy, his wand stowed away back into his belt.

The stadium was completely silent. Merlin had never had such a surreal experience of being surrounded by so many people and still being able to hear the drop of a pin.

“Circe, he can tame dragons too?” the girl in the toilet-paper wedding dress breathed out, sounding so lovestruck that she was beginning to cry and blow her nose with her own veil. Gwen, who had been sitting beside her, had her mouth hanging open. She didn’t look capable of closing it any time soon.

There was only one more beat of silence before the crowd rose to its feet en mass, the cheers so deafeningly loud that the very floor under their feet rumbled. Arthur raised his arm with a triumphant grin at his screaming admirers before turning to the Horntail where, to Merlin’s delight, they proceeded to bow to each other with mutual respect.

“He really is the Once and Future King, isn’t he?” Leon said, staring at Arthur with a mixture of fierce pride and awe as Lee Jordan happily declared Arthur the winner of the First Task.

Merlin surreptitiously dabbed the corner of his eyes with his neckerchief when no one was looking before turning back to Leon. 

He grinned almost goofily.

“You know, Leon, I really think he might be.”

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Naturally, Arthur was a hero throughout the school. The Gryffindors threw a party to end all parties, which had got so rowdy that Professor McGonagall herself had to come down in her nightgown to break it up before it spread throughout the school like wildfire.

Even the ghosts, true to their nature, got into the spirit of things. Peeves had been a one-man party planner, throwing confetti and magical fireworks at everyone who entered the Gryffindor common room while Nearly Headless Nick danced a rather impressive tango with the Grey Lady. The portraits had also used Arthur’s win as an excuse to let loose, with the majority of them merrily drinking themselves into a stupor. Sir Cadogan in particular had got remarkably sloshed, slumped drunk in the corner of the Fat Lady’s frame and hiccuping so hard that bubbles popped out from his closed helm. 

It had obviously been a rager because Arthur still had Peeves’ glittering confetti littered in his hair the next day during his tutoring session with Merlin, his eyes red but happy. 

Try as he might, Merlin couldn’t stop himself from feeling proud. He tried to put on a serious face, perfectly aware that it probably made him look silly.

“Right, the First Task went well but we can’t get complacent now-“ he said, folding his hands in front of him.

Arthur smiled with exasperation. Shaking his head, a bit of confetti rained down onto the tabletop below. 

“Come on, you can’t even let me have this?” he prodded, his crooked teeth on show. How that imperfection added to his good looks still boggled Merlin’s mind. “Tell me how good I was.” 

“You’re just lucky that dragon seemed to like you,” Merlin reminded Arthur. “You didn’t need to even use your wand.” Had Arthur been up against anything other than a dragon, it would have been a different story entirely. According to Kilgharrah, being the soulmate of a dragonlord gave you a lot of ‘street cred’ with dragons, whatever that meant (Kilgharrah really was a connoisseur of modern colloquialisms).

“It’s my animal charisma,” Arthur explained with an arrogant grin, as though that was the answer to everything. 

“It explains why only dragons can sense it,” Merlin muttered in response. “Anyway, now that’s over, we can focus on the Final Task. What clue did you get for it? You need to decipher that. And after that, we need to do more studying and spellwork. I’ve been talking to Professor Flitwick and he suggested that we brush up on your Ascendio as well as your Baubillious charms just in case you- Arthur, why are you banging your head against the table?”

Because Arthur was, repeatedly. Frowning, Merlin magicked a cushion between his forehead and the table before he did himself even more of a head injury. His brain was compromised enough as it was.

“The next task is a hunt, Gwen already helped me figure it out,” Arthur said, his voice muffled into the pillow. “Please stop talking now.”

“A hunt,” Merlin repeated, feeling his insides twist again. Uther was nothing if not brutally consistent. Merlin had always hated hunting trips, even back in Camelot but now there was a new level of cruelty in the act. Merlin wondered darkly what would die out first, the population of magical creatures or magic itself.

“Yeah, they’re going to drop us in the Forbidden Forest,” Arthur said, lifting his head, his face lined from the creases in the cushion. “The champion who comes back with the most impressive kill wins.” 

“What, so anything you find in the forest is fair game to murder?” Merlin demanded with disgust. He still couldn’t believe that this was the climate they were currently in, that this sort of behavior was deemed acceptable. Merlin had seen history regress countless times in his long lifetime but mankind’s enduring depravity still never failed to shock him. “What about Grawp, how many points is his head worth, Arthur?”

Arthur looked like Merlin had punched him.

“That’s not fair,” he said, looking pale and unhappy. “You know I’d make sure he was hidden away.”

“None of this is fair, Arthur,” Merlin snapped, suddenly furious as he jumped to his feet in agitation. Running his fingers through his hair roughly, Merlin paced up and down his office, his anger ready to explode under his skin. “None of what your father is doing is fair. Grawp, hippogriffs, centaurs, hags - they all have the right to live, Arthur. The right to be free from registration and persecution.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Arthur argued back, returning Merlin’s ire as he got to his feet crossly. He was the same height he had been back in Camelot, his muscular frame just as broad and intimidating. He had grown up so much. “You always look at me, expecting me to change things when I can’t! I’m not king! You know I hate what’s happening, I’ve tried to help where I can but I can’t go against my father.”

“Why not!?” Merlin demanded, suddenly full of fury. Over a thousand years of resentment and bitterness was bubbling up inside of him, boiling over like an unstable potion in a cauldron. All those years Arthur said nothing as sorcerers were killed, all those years the ban on magic wasn’t repealed. All those years that Arthur stood on the sidelines, watching the druids get persecuted and never taking a firm stand.

And, most of all, all those years that Merlin, who was the most guilty of them all, did nothing -- said nothing -- as his own kind died all around him.

Merlin couldn’t do it anymore. He had already been silent for far too long.

“Being a king isn’t about having a title, it’s about acting like one,” Merlin said, his voice hoarse, almost scratchy, as though he had been screaming for hours. And he had - he had been screaming about this in his own head for a _millenia_. “And I’m sorry to say it, Arthur, but your father is a piss-poor king.”

“You take that back!” Arthur said, looking angrier than Merlin had ever seen him, his eyes blazing. “That’s your monarch you’re talking about!”

But Merlin shook his head, unphased. This speech was already centuries overdue.

“Uther was never my king,” he said, feeling oddly calm, even as his emotions swirled inside him like a storm at sea. “Your father is the reason why magic is dying, why witches and wizards are becoming extinct. The only person that can stop him is you. Don’t you see that, Arthur? That’s why there are prophecies about you, that’s why everyone looks to you for guidance. You are the Once and Future King.” Merlin stopped to drink in Arthur’s expression. He looked so fierce, so stubborn and somehow so lost at the same time that it broke Merlin’s heart. He had truly never been so weak for anyone as he was for Arthur. 

In a softer voice, Merlin continued. “I know it’s not fair. I know you never asked for this but you’re the one everyone is depending on. You’re eventually going to have to make a choice, Arthur. Whether to remain blindly loyal to one man or to step up and be the king everyone needs you to be.” 

Arthur was breathing hard, his face bright red and his chest heaving, as though he had run for miles. Merlin wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other but Arthur soon ripped his eyes away, as though betrayed, before grabbing his book bag from where it lay at his feet. He didn’t look back at Merlin as he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him for good measure, making all the vials on Merlin’s shelves rattle dangerously against each other.

The silence in the room was almost deafening until a tinny voice from a portrait broke the silence.

“Well,” Sir Cadogan commented, perched atop his pony after clearly witnessing the whole thing. “I think that went well, all things considered.”

Merlin just groaned and dropped into his chair. Circe, he needed a drink.

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Merlin and Arthur still hadn’t made up by the time the Final Task was upon them.

In Merlin’s defense, he had tried to engage Arthur in conversation in class but the other boy was resolute in giving him the cold shoulder. Even their tutoring sessions had been a bust, with Arthur flatly refusing to turn up to them at all, leaving Merlin’s chairs pining for the press of Arthur’s posterior like lovesick maidens.

Merlin doubted his chairs would be missing Arthur quite so fiercely if they knew how much of a brat Arthur was being. Because when Arthur was in a bad mood, he took that bad mood out on _everybody_ around him. 

When he wasn’t channelling Oliver Wood and almost murdering his team with aggressive drills during Quidditch practise, he was snapping at Leon of all people, which was akin to kicking a baby kneazle. 

His classmates had also clearly noticed something was wrong. Percival and Elyan, being sensible, gave him a wide berth (and pushed the occasional bit of food in front of him to tide him over, which he munched on savagely) while Gwen peered curiously between Arthur and Merlin, her face far too shrewd for Merlin’s liking. She had always been the smartest of them all. 

Even Gwaine, whose favourite pastime was to watch things fly over his head, looked deeply troubled as he frowned at Arthur’s new attitude. 

As someone who had always hated being on the outs with Arthur, Merlin was almost beginning to regret his words. What if Arthur’s survival in this task hinged on something he needed to learn from Merlin? Maybe he shouldn’t have been as harsh as he was.

“No, he needed to hear it, Merlin,” Gaius defended when Merlin shared his woes with him, patting Merlin supportively on the shoulder. “Lord knows, I think my previous incarnation should have heard it too.”

They were sitting in the back office of the infirmary and Merlin had already gone through three pumpkin pasties and five cups of tea. He was just getting started on a cauldron cake when Gaius’ words made him frown mid-chew.

“Hmmph?” Merlin said, a face full of cake.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Gaius chided, handing Merlin a saucer to catch the crumbs in. “And I’m being serious. The thing is… I remember being the Gaius you had in Camelot. I’m _me_ but I also remember a time I was him. And some of the choices I made back then… I am honestly ashamed of them.”

Merlin swallowed his cake, perturbed by the troubled expression on Gaius’ face.

“You always tried your hardest back then, I knew that,” he said vociferously, and he believed that wholeheartedly. He would have died a thousand times without Gaius’ help.

Gaius looked less convinced.

“But how many people did I watch die, Merlin?” he responded. “Why did I serve Uther so dutifully when he was a tyrant? A genocidal maniac? Why did I make so many excuses for his abhorrent behaviour? Why didn’t I help more people?”

Merlin placed his hands over Gaius’, feeling a tug at his heart at how old Gaius’ hands were looking in comparison to his own.

“You helped _me_ ,” he said fiercely. 

“Because I _loved_ you,” Gaius said with a melancholy sort of smile, pining for a time that neither could get back despite all the magic they had between them. “I was selfish. I wanted _you_ safe. You were the closest thing I had to a son. I broke countless laws I had reported in the past just to protect _you_.”

“And what about me?” Merlin countered back, feeling his own self loathing nibbling away at his ribs. “I was so blinded by Arthur dying at Mordred’s hand that I inadvertently managed to send him right into Morgana’s hands. _I_ did that. And as for Morgana… look at her, Gaius! She’s flourishing, she’s happy and content and it makes me feel sick inside, knowing that I screwed up my destiny so badly the first time. What if I’m doing it again? What if I’m in a never-ending spiral, constantly messing things up for eternity? How many more prophecies do I have to live through? How many more times am I expected to watch Arthur die?” 

Gaius’ hand tightened on Merlin’s shoulder, and Merlin clung to the affection like a lifeline.

From out the window, the distant sound of trumpets could be heard.

“The Final Task is about to start,” Gaius remarked, looking at Merlin with soft eyes. “Are you coming with me?”

Letting out a breath to steel himself, Merlin nodded.

“Let me just grab my neckerchief from my trunk.”

━━━✦❘༻༺❘༻༺❘❘༻༺❘༻༺❘✦━━━

In Merlin’s opinion, the Forbidden Forest had never looked more dangerous than it did at that moment. Floating lights shimmered around the trees, casting grotesque shadows that looked like flickering faces and grasping fingers.

Viewing stands had been erected for spectators to sit in at the entrance of the forest, putting Merlin to mind of Harry Potter’s last task with the maze. After all these years and after everything he had seen, Amos Diggory’s screams of anguish still haunted Merlin to this day. There was nothing more painful than watching a person grieve over the body of someone they loved with all their heart.

Merlin prayed with all his might that he wouldn’t have to cry over Arthur again tonight. 

Arthur himself was standing at the edge of the forest with his fellow champions, dressed in his dragonhide leather ensemble again, his face stark-white under the flicking lights. His jaw was clenched and he looked a mix between determined and miserable. Merlin hated himself at that moment for putting that expression on his face.

_I’m sorry, Arthur._

As though he had heard him, Arthur’s head suddenly snapped backwards, his eyes catching Merlin’s immediately.

Merlin didn’t need to know the scientific odds of that to know it wasn’t just a happy coincidence. 

Arthur pressed his lips together firmly, his eyes intense. Merlin was sure there was fanfare and cheering and music and Lee Jordan’s dynamic introductions booming out of the speakers but all he could hear was the soft voice in the back of his mind.

_Wish me luck._

Merlin grinned at him. Arthur’s returning smile could have lit up the entire forest.

 _You’ve got this,_ Merlin returned, not a shred of doubt in his mind.

A whistle sounded. Throwing a rough salute at Merlin, Arthur gave him one last smile before sprinting into the forest. 

“And they're off!” Lee Jordan announced, the crowd screaming with excitement. Flags and banners were waving erratically from all corners of the stands, representing all three schools. To Merlin’s delight, Arthur was clearly the most popular champion, with signs and costumes showing their unwavering support for him. The posters portraying Arthur’s face seemed to all be winking at once, confident, brash and beatific. 

A few Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students had even defected from their own sides and were proudly wearing Arthur’s colours. One Durmstrang defector in particular was even wearing a t-shirt, asking Arthur to stick his wand somewhere highly inappropriate. Merlin had a feeling he and the girl with the toilet-paper wedding dress would have got along well. 

“Remember ladies and gentlemen,” Lee’s voice shouted out, amplified by his Sonorus charm, his wand pointed at his throat, “that the champion who comes back with the best hunting trophy will win the Task!” 

“Oh, I don’t think I can watch,” Gwen moaned from behind Merlin, her hands splayed nervously over her face, smudging her face paint and unconsciously getting it all over her robes. “Remind me again why the school thinks it’s a good idea to send students into the forest to potentially get eaten?”

“Entertainment?” Gwaine responded excitably, poking his head over her shoulder. He had been leading the frog choir in a particularly rousing chant about Arthur’s abs but decided to take a break. “Reckon Cenred will get eaten by an acromantula? That would be brilliant.”

“Idiot! What if _Arthur_ gets eaten by an acromantula?” Leon snapped, mother henning again the way he did best. His curls looked wild from all the times he had run his hands frantically through them. 

“Arthur’ll be fine,” said Lancelot in a voice that did little to alleviate everyone’s fears because he looked more worried than the rest of them put together. Even the robotic pats he was delivering to his girlfriend’s back looked more painful than comforting, given Gwen’s winces.

“Ten galleons says Arthur gets eaten first,” Morgana suddenly called out, delicately nibbling on a toffee apple. Elyan booed at her loudly. “Hush, Elyan, I’ve got excellent odds.”

“He’s your cousin, you traitor,” Elyan reminded her as he sat beside Percival, whose large frame was squeezed so uncomfortably into the compact seats that Merlin wondered if he would ever be able to get out of them. Two first years, who had the unfortunate luck to be sitting behind Percival, had long since given up trying to see anything and were playing Exploding Snap instead.

“All’s fair in gambling, Elyan,” Morgana insisted sweetly, proving her point as Mordred handed her a pouch of coins. She then blinked as a shower of sparks hit the air. “Oh look. That was quick. Is someone dead?”

Merlin was on his feet before he realised it.

“- it looks like those sparks belong to Durmstrang’s champion, Cenred!” Lee called out to the crowd, who watched with bated breath. “Due to an untimely injury after a wrestling match with a serket, he has chosen to bow out for the rest of the competition! We all wish him a speedy recovery. That leaves Arthur and Morgause left in the ring and- it appears as though they are after the same charge!”

Merlin turned to the projector that was displaying what was happening in the forest. A fast, furry shape was sprinting through the forest, looking more like a predator than prey.

“It’s a werewolf,” Gaius breathed out from beside Merlin. “Good god, Merlin, they need to get out of there- _Merlin! Come back here!”_

Because Merlin had jumped over the stands to sprint towards the entrance of forest, his heart pounding erratically in his chest.

“Call it off, there’s a werewolf loose!” Merlin shouted over his shoulder at McGonagall who immediately paled before following after him.

Merlin could hear Lee Jordan’s uncertain voice echoing behind him but Merlin didn’t care as he followed the unmistakable sounds of pained howling and, strangely enough, duelling spells. 

It was only when Merlin got to a clearing that he finally happened upon Arthur and Morgause. They were circling each other with their wands out like combatants, their faces bruised and dirty. The werewolf, a mangy looking beast with light brown fur, looked severely wounded, the left side of its body completely covered in blood. It had a look of pure agony on its face.

Merlin watched in awe as Arthur jumped in front of it, shielding it from Morgause’s view.

“Stay back! Keep away from it!” Arthur warned with absolute authority in his voice, holding up a protego shield with his wand like a battle-hardened warrior. Morgause, who was wearing an ugly expression on her beautiful face, bared her teeth at him. 

“Out of my way, Pendragon, that beast is mine!” she sneered. “I’m going to win this prize, not you.”

“It’s not a prize, it’s a person!” Arthur yelled out. “You can’t kill it! Can’t you see that? After the full moon, they’ll turn back to their true form.”

“That’s rich! Uther Pendragon’s son lecturing me about killing beasts,” Morgause spat out scornfully, her eyes glittering with malice. “Why bother saving it when your father’s laws will just kill it later?”

Arthur clenched his jaw resolutely, holding his wand higher. 

“I am not my father.”

“No, you’re not,” Morgause said. If Merlin didn’t know better, he would say she almost sounded impressed. Her regard didn’t last long, however. Waving her wand with a flourish, Morgause threw a powerful stunning spell at Arthur. Merlin had immediately moved forward to help but Arthur, being a champion duellist, repelled it immediately, letting it ricochet back and catch Morgause in the stomach. The force of the spell knocked Morgause to one side, making her land with a thud onto the earth below.

It also gave her an unimpeded view of the writhing werewolf at Arthur’s feet.

It all happened so fast. 

Morgause had lifted her wand and brought it down in a hacking movement, Arthur had thrown himself like a martyr in front of the werewolf and a sudden spray of blood showered through the air like raindrops, covering the forest in a haze of red. 

With a gurgling noise, Arthur collapsed in a heap on the ground.

Merlin went catatonic at the sight, his ears buzzing and his knees giving out as he landed gracelessly at Arthur’s side.

Blood. There was _so much blood._

“Merlin, you have to move and let me work on him.” It was Gaius. Merlin hadn’t even seen him arrive but he was moving with a speed that was impressive for a man his age. Merlin, who could barely feel the blades of grass under his fingers or the pebbles digging into his knees, had a feeling he had gone into a state of shock.

Turning Arthur over, Gaius examined his wound carefully, his physician’s bag already open and magically mixing a concoction in midair with invisible fingers, its consistency as thick as porridge.

“Gaius,” Merlin finally managed to say when he could find his voice. His tongue felt heavy and unfamiliar in his mouth, as though he hadn’t used it for years. “Gaius… is he…”

“It’s not life threatening but I need to get him to my infirmary,” Gaius said brusquely, smearing the paste he had created onto the gaping wound before looking at Merlin sharply. “And I need you to tend to the werewolf, Merlin. I can’t bring them onto school grounds, it’s too risky. I’m going to need your help.” 

Swallowing hard at how lifeless Arthur’s face looked, Merlin nodded, his ears still ringing.

“Just tell me what I need to do,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Clean the wound and hide them,” Gaius said, the firmness in his voice centering Merlin slightly. Gaius then placed a steady hand on Merlin’s arm and Merlin clung to the tiny comfort it provided. “And Merlin, try and find out who they are. A rogue werewolf on the loose during an event of this importance is not a coincidence.”

Looking down at the werewolf, who was clinging to consciousness, Merlin could see just how emaciated they were. Old welts and scars were bloody and raw around a neck that had clearly worn a silver collar for an extended period of time as a form of torture. From the age of the wounds and the patchy, coarse state of its fur, it was likely that someone had kept this werewolf in a locked room or a dungeon, away from the sun, and had mistreated it for years. 

Merlin felt his knuckles close into fists instinctively in rage at the thought. 

As though spooked by his mood, the werewolf lifted up pained watery brown eyes, their face already beginning to morph back to its original state.

Merlin felt a punch in the gut when he realised who it was. 

“Lavender Brown?” he murmured but she had already passed out. 

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“How is she?” Gaius had asked once Merlin returned the following morning, looking just as exhausted as Merlin did himself. Neither had slept the night before while tending to their respective patients and it showed, Eyes heavy, Merlin wouldn't have been surprised if they were currently sleeptalking to each other.

“She’s scared, relieved, in pain but finally free?” Merlin responded, a little unsure himself as he shook his head in awe at the revelation.

Lavender Brown, of all people. 

They had all assumed she had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione herself had told Merlin that they had seen her body after Fenrir Greyback had attacked her but there she was, curled up in a bed in the Shrieking Shack, the closest place Merlin could hide her in such short notice. 

It wasn’t lost on Merlin that this had been the home to another werewolf years before. It felt oddly fitting keeping her there.

Naturally, Lavender hadn’t trusted him at first. Even as Merlin cleaned her numerous wounds and helped seal the large gashes on her abdomen, she had held still, looking at him with mistrust. She had been skittish and weak but so fierce that Merlin couldn’t help but feel immensely pleased that she still had that spirit. Even at her lowest, she was a fighter. Never had he realised exactly why the Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor until that moment.

He had then offered her a place with free lodging and a series of nature reserves, warning her it was "a lot bigger on the inside than it looks.”

Lavender had accepted her new lodgings immediately.

Heaving a sigh of tired satisfaction, Merlin looked towards the bed in the corner of the infirmary, its curtains closed.

“How is he?” He questioned.

Gaius just smiled.

“Awake and demanding your presence, so the same as always,” he said drolly, filling Merlin with relief. “We’re just lucky the wound missed anything vital. Now go, don’t leave him waiting too much longer. Fair warning though, Merlin, he has more potions in him than the dungeons right now. Be gentle.”

“Hey, Professor Merlin Emrys,” Arthur said the moment Merlin pulled back the curtain surrounding his bed. Arthur looked woozy, smiling like a drunkard. He was quite obviously high as a broomstick. “Come here often?”

Even now, he was still a flirt. Merlin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry,

“Stay still, Arthur, you’re injured.”

“You’re bossy,” Arthur slurred back. He then seemed to notice Gaius. “Oh, hullo Mr Gaius. Professor Emrys says we should stay still, I’m injured.”

Gaius was fighting not to laugh.

“As you say, sire.”

“I’m going to marry him one day,” he whispered to Gaius. “But shush, don’t tell him. It’ll ruin the surprise.”

Merlin could feel himself going a blotchy red and cursed his pale skin.

Gaius just looked amused but, being the kind soul he was, didn’t pursue the topic.

“Has the king left already, Arthur?” he asked instead, making Merlin breathe out a sigh of relief. As much as Merlin wished to have stayed by Arthur’s side while he recovered, he was glad he hadn’t come across Uther. 

“He told me off,” Arthur said with an exaggerated pout, the frown on his face looking particularly funny attached to his 6-foot burly frame. It made him look like a giant toddler who had been scolded by parents for peeing on the carpet.

Merlin sighed. Arthur had shown compassion, bravery and selflessness. Of course Uther disapproved. 

“I know your father won’t say it so let me, Arthur. you did a good thing back there.”

Arthur blinked, looking punchdrunk. Considering the amount of potions in his system, Merlin wasn’t surprised. 

“I did?” he asked in awe, as though his soft heart was some sort of malady he needed to get treated. 

“Of course you did,” Merlin said vehemently. “I don’t approve of you throwing yourself into danger recklessly but what you did was unbelievably kind. Never let anyone tell you that kindness is a weakness, Arthur. If anything, it makes you stronger. I’m proud of you.”

Arthur blinked again slowly, clearly trying to decipher this conversation. Given the fact that his body fluid was ninety-percent potion at the moment, he was clearly struggling. He then let out a grin.

“You know, you should show me how proud you are of me by going to the Three Broomsticks with me for a drink.” 

Arthur could barely point at his own nose at that moment but he still managed to ask Merlin out. His tenacity was almost a superpower. 

“Arthur-“ Merlin began warningly. The irony that Arthur wanted to take Merlin to a tavern was not lost on him.

Arthur then held up his hands. 

“I’ll have a butterbeer, I promise.” 

Merlin just sighed.

“You know what my answer will be, Arthur. Why do you keep asking?”

“Maybe I’ll wear you down someday,” he said, his crooked smile on display. God help Merlin, he worried Arthur might be right. The older he got, the more Merlin’s Arthur shone through. It felt like a cosmic joke was being played on him, as the universe slowly turned Arthur into the man he was desperately in love with.

Sometimes Merlin wondered if this was all some elaborate prank.

“You know, I’m a catch," Arthur reminded him with a pout, as though finding it terribly unfair that Merlin was the only one who hadn't noticed.

Merlin laughed at that.

“I heard a rumour.”

“I’m a real life prince charming," Arthur continued.

“Hmm, I suppose you have the prince part down," Merlin humoured him, even though he knew the man was right. It really was galling how much of a fairytale prince Arthur was.

“One day,” Arthur said, his smile still woozy as he pointed at Merlin.

“One day?” Merlin asked, confused.

“One day you’ll agree to be mine.”

Merlin didn’t know how to respond to that. He just stared at him and carried on doing so until Arthur fell into a deep sleep, his chest expanding reassuringly with every breath.

Reaching over, he allowed himself to move a strand of hair from Arthur’s forehead.

“I’ve always been yours, Arthur,” he said almost sadly, looking down at him.

Arthur carried on sleeping peacefully, none the wiser.


	15. Year Seven: The Battle of Hogwarts

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**2011**

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Unlike most years, Merlin was too busy that summer to keep constant tabs on Arthur.

When Merlin wasn’t breaking into containment cells and smuggling more magical beings and beasts into Newt’s suitcase, he was a) trying to stop them killing him b) trying to stop them killing each other or c) on feeding duty with Newt himself, which usually led to points a) and b) occurring in the first place.

For someone who had fought down an entire Saxon army as an old man (all while dealing with severe rheumatism in his joints at the same time) this venture was by far the toughest Merlin had encountered.

Because he had somehow, in the space of three years, become a single father to about 900 creatures of magic.

Centaurs, hags, veela, werewolves, vampires, house-elves, goblins… they had all begun to defer to him for some reason, like he was a messiah of some sort. But it wasn’t just the de-classified beings that seemed to treat Merlin like he was the second coming. 

Even the magical beasts were in on the action, from grindylows and diricawls to bowtruckles and graphorns, all of whom would stare glossy-eyed at Merlin (if they even had eyes, of course), the occasional few actually sighing after him like they had never seen something so beautiful. The loudest sigh usually came from one particularly enamoured hinkpyunk Merlin had counselled, who had led so many people astray in his lifetime that he had had trouble finding himself. Now, he appeared to have found Merlin instead because he would hop a smoky leg after him whenever he could, inconspicuously trying to hide behind the nearest bush while his lamp clearly gave him away. 

Merlin, who had never had a -- quite literally -- faceless stalker before, wasn’t sure he liked it.

He had a feeling it was his magic that let everyone trust him so implicitly. It was an almost primal bond between them, a connection that only creatures made of magic could really feel. 

The hero-worship was a little much, however. Especially when the centaurs began bowing to Merlin everytime he passed, no matter what they had been doing previously (Merlin still didn’t want to discuss the situation with the copulating centaur couple who were still happily thrusting away while they bowed deferentially at him).

Even the vampires, who were cold in both temperature and temperament, smiled at Merlin when they saw him, their fangs usually bloody from the huge vats of Blood Potion Gaius had produced to sustain their hunger (Merlin had also tried to get them Blood Pops from Honeydukes whenever he could, which resulted in a pack of ferocious-looking vampires happily sucking on lollipops like giant toddlers).

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Newt had once said, a mixture of baffled and delighted after the goblins invited Merlin to take part in a sacred sort of ritual, which just turned out to be a night of hard drinking which somehow involved Merlin waking up in a very tight pair of goblin underpants. “These beings have more than enough reason to distrust us but they almost seem to worship you.”

“I really wish they wouldn’t,” Merlin said with a wince, idly patting a house-elf awkwardly on the head as it tried to kiss the bottom of his robes. “I’d much rather they liked each other instead.” 

“These beasts are naturally born to be wary of one another, Merlin,” Newt had explained patiently, which was impressive considering that an erkling was literally chewing on his hand at the time. “Fostering relationships takes time. You’ll see, they’ll eventually get there. Look at Magnus here,” he said, pointing at said erkling, who was still gnashing away at Newt’s dragonhide gloves like they were a choice bit of steak. For someone in danger of imminent limb dismemberment, he looked terribly proud. “He’s not trying to go for my eyes anymore. I call that progress. You’ll see.”

And Newt was right. Slowly, it felt like the invisible barriers between the factions began to thaw.

The veela, who had generally kept to themselves while looking like beautiful, snooty models now actually spoke to the others. They still looked like they found this entire concept of slumming it in a smelly old suitcase beneath them but instead of putting down the hags for their looks (as they had initially), they now seemed to revel in giving them beauty advice and makeovers. Mary Collins especially had embraced the change, winking at Merlin through heavily kohled eyes and a rather fetching new fringe.

And they weren’t the only ones forming attachments. The vampires, who used to sit under constant umbrella charms and wrinkle their noses at everything, now actually sat companionably with the werewolves. Lavender in particular seemed to be thriving from this partnership as she clung to the arm of a pale but handsome vampire, sighing and declaring herself in love. The vampire didn’t look as sure as she did but Merlin decided to keep his nose out of that one.

The most rewarding moment, however, had to be when the goblins finally decided to sit in the middle of the communal campfire with everyone else, awkwardly offering a cup of goblin ale to Hagrid, who blinked before taking it, the tiny cup looking like little more than a thimble in his large hands. Merlin had watched the interaction with an almost giddy sort of delight before looking at a smiling Newt, knowing how much of a breakthrough this was. As helpful as they had been with overseeing food rations and developing a pretty ingenious bartering system, the goblins had brought their brains to the Sanctuary, not their hearts. Watching Hagrid offer Bogrod his pinky for him to shake in thanks, Merlin had a feeling they had finally got there.

Which he was thankful for really because he really was beginning to miss devoting his time to Arthur.

In previous years over summer break, Merlin tried to drop in to visit Arthur when he could. This year, his time was so stretched that Merlin had had to enchant the royal rags to just read themselves aloud to him. For some reason, they all seemed to sound like Rita Skeeter, which gave Merlin the surreal feeling of wanting to headbutt a newspaper.

He’d also tried his hand at scrying but he had always been a rubbish seer, managing to catch a glimpse of Arthur’s left cheek one time, his right toe the other and what looked like the inside of his mouth, which told Merlin nothing other than the fact that Arthur should really see someone about that cavity.

Merlin was so busy helping Newt that he had even missed the welcoming feast.

“Arthur was asking after you, you know,” Gaius had said the next day as he helped Merlin push a particularly sleepy blast-ended skrewt back into its pen. The skrewt, who was so tired it swayed a little on its feet, let out a puff of a fart with barely any fire at all. Merlin imagined all the blast-ending she had done early that morning (setting fire to at least three drapes, a puffskein and Merlin’s left eyebrow) had all but worn her out. “He asked me if you had finally been fired for your incompetence.”

Merlin just scoffed.

“That little shit,” he said fondly. “I’d be madder at him but the papers say Arthur’s been visiting containment shelters and checking on their conditions over the summer,” Merlin said, trying not to look proud and failing. “Uther was not pleased.”

“I imagine not. It’s hard to convince the masses that they are lesser beings if the prince himself ignores his father. Anyway, you better go see him before he forces poor Morris to scour the grounds for you.”

Merlin laughed. That sounded exactly like something Arthur would do. Wiping his hands down, he took off his scuffed dragonhide apron.

“He’ll be at Quidditch practise about now. Look after Bertha here won’t you, Gaius? And don’t let her at Doris, whatever you do. Those two have been fighting over the same skrewt for the past week. He’s a bit of a cad.”

“Ah, the intricacies of skrewt mating rituals,” Newt said almost wistfully from where he was providing a hungover centaur with an elixir. He then blinked and snapped out of the memory. “Send Arthur my best, won’t you?”

“Will do,” Merlin called out, heading towards the field, excitement thrumming through him.

All in all, life was beginning to look up.

More magical beings were free than in captivity, Merlin’s magical guests were finally acclimatising to one another and now he was getting to see Arthur again after a two month drought. For someone who had lived without Arthur for over a thousand years, Merlin still managed to feel that jolt of belonging, of _joy_ , whenever he clapped eyes on him.

And then Merlin saw him across the Quidditch field and he stopped dead at how different he looked.

Because there Arthur was, taller and broader than Merlin had ever seen him, shirtless and sweaty, with his Quidditch robes over one shoulder as he grinned about something with his teammates. Lounging with both confidence and idle grace on his racing broom, Arthur levitated off the ground, his skin shining golden under the sun as he threw back his head and laughed at something Leon had said.

It was then -- that very moment -- that it hit Merlin right in the gut.

It was like the clouds had suddenly parted and the sun was shining down on Arthur - _his_ Arthur, looking exactly as he had the first day they had met in Camelot, his skin golden and his face as far from a child's as could be.

It made Merlin gulp. 

He was so fucked. 

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Considering that Merlin was in the middle of a panic attack, he thought he was doing quite well.

“Breathe, Merlin!” said Godric from the portrait of the round table, trying to fan him with a giant frond leaf he had swiped from the Fat Lady’s frame. The fact Merlin couldn’t feel the air didn't seem to deter him as he huffed, flapping the leaf furiously. “In through the nose, out through the mouth, attaboy.”

“Satan’s balls, how could I let this happen?” Merlin groaned, his head in his hands. Archimedes, unsure what to do to help, flew over to perch onto Merlin’s shoulder before beating his wing at Merlin’s head in a strange imitation of a pat on the head. Merlin would have worried about getting a cranial fracture if he wasn’t too busy spiralling out of control.

“Oh come now, old boy, you can’t be surprised,” said Cadogan from his seat at the round table. Next to him his pony seemed to be trying to chew on Arthur’s throne. “You two were always gaga over each other! All that soulful staring… it was frankly awkward for the rest of us.”

Merlin groaned even louder.

“Nope, not listening,” he said, almost childishly before lifting his face to look at them. “Look, I need to ignore these feelings. They’ll go away naturally.”

“Will they?” Godric asked, finally giving up with the leaf to seat himself heavily on Cadagon’s other side. “He’s your destiny.”

“He’s my _student_ and I’m his professor and I take that seriously.” Merlin said staunchly, meaning it with every fibre of his being. He loved Arthur but nothing could happen. Maybe one day, when Arthur was older and out of school, when he remembered who Merlin was… but for the time being, Merlin needed to keep his feelings in check.

“I hid my magic from him for a decade in Camelot, I’m sure a year of secrecy won’t kill me.”

Unfortunately, the look Godric and Cadogan shared didn’t fill him with confidence. 

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For the first time during one of Arthur’s tuition sessions, Merlin felt nervous. He fleetingly hoped that his reaction to a shirtless Arthur was a fluke, or it was a bout of temporary madness that could be fixed with some bed rest, plenty of chicken soup and about a thousand Hail Marys.

When Arthur stumbled in, looking as beautiful as he ever had, however, Merlin decided he was permanently broken, hating himself for quite literally losing his breath when he saw him.

“Hey, professor, you didn’t come to the feast,” Arthur said, as cocksure as always. His mouth was moving a mile a minute as he slipped into the seat opposite Merlin’s own, casually dropping his book bag to the floor. “Aren’t you going to ask how my holiday was?”

Arthur’s hair was damp and curling at the bottom. He had obviously had a quick shower after Quidditch practise. Merlin told himself he hadn’t noticed, even as water droplets glistened back at him from Arthur’s skin like diamonds.

It didn’t help that Arthur had absolutely no concept of personal space and leaned close to Merlin, his face beaming. Merlin willed down the flush that was threatening to overtake his face.

“How was your holiday, Arthur?” he asked, trying to sound as calm as he always had. Was this how he had always sounded? Was he always so squeaky? Merlin didn't even know how to behave any more.

“Boring without you,” Arthur said, saying it so matter-of-factly -- with absolutely no shame -- that he could have taught lessons in brazenness. He was wearing his broad, flirtatious grin and Merlin was having a hard time figuring out how he had managed to ignore it for so long. It was a lethal weapon. Coughing, Merlin floundered, trying to remember what he usually did in these situations. Usually, this is when he would glare at Arthur or tersely tell him to stop such behaviour. Now, his brain was turning to mush and he was slowly drowning in his own feelings. Luckily for him, Arthur carried on the conversation without him. “So, this is my last year. Will you miss me?”

The answer to this was such an emphatic ‘yes’ that Merlin didn’t try to respond seriously, in case he incriminated himself.

Instead he looked down at Arthur’s essay instead, trying to stop his hands from shaking around his quill. Christ, he had it bad.

“You know,” he said, clearing his throat. “I really don’t think you need me anymore, Arthur. This essay is really well written. With your NEWTs preparation starting next week, I don’t see how else I can help. You’ve got this.”

Arthur’s smug smile turned a little panicked, as though being given positive feedback was a bad thing.

“I’m still rubbish at Potions,” he tried to argue, as though desperate to prove his own ineptitude. It was so unlike Arthur that Merlin looked at him, a little puzzled. Arthur was the kind of guy who showed off every skill he had like he was competing for a medal.

“That’s funny, I was told you managed to brew Felix Felices,” Merlin said with confusion. 

Arthur almost jumped a foot in the air, which was impressive considering he was sitting down.

“Who told you that?” he said, looking at Merlin with an oddly panicked look on his face that Merlin didn’t quite understand. 

“I have spies,” Merlin returned although he eyed Arthur curiously. Gaius had told Merlin but he really hadn’t expected a reaction like that. He wondered what Arthur was up to. He had that shifty look about him that he often wore when he was embarking on a reckless plan of some kind. 

It made Merlin narrow his eyes with suspicion, even as Arthur ducked his head down to his essay and started to talk about it in detail. He was clearly changing the subject, which only made Merlin more wary.

Something was going on here. He just didn’t know what. 

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Months passed by, NEWTs were taken and Merlin still didn’t know exactly what Arthur’s panic with the Felix Felices was about. 

What he did know was that Arthur and his friends were making the most of their final year by sneaking out and rescuing as many magical creatures as they could.

“We’re going to run out of room soon,” Merlin had remarked to Newt when a lipstick-covered Gwaine had brought them a pair of veela sisters, who seemed to like him just as much as he liked them. Morgana and Gwen had brought them a giantess, with the three women bonding over footwear and how to land the perfect uppercut. And lastly, a drenched Arthur and Leon had squelched in with a couple of mermen, who had almost drowned them by initially mistaking them for Ministry officials. 

“Are you alright?” Merlin had fussed, looking Arthur over in panic, running his wand over him. “Is anything broken?”

“I’m fine, too, thanks,” Leon had remarked dryly behind them, which was a feat considering how wet he was. Merlin had the good grace to feel embarrassed.

And those were just the first creatures that year.

As months passed and time went on, the Suitcase Sanctuary grew and the beasts and beings grew closer. Merlin would sit back and watch them with contentment, with the night of Arthur’s last exam being the most memorable.

The dragons had been frolicking in the setting sky of Newt’s suitcase. Elyan and Percival had been playing a round of Exploding Snap with the goblins and the vampires, quite literally losing the shirts off their backs. Morgana had been giggling as a niffler tried to hang off her necklace while Gwen tickled its chubby belly. Gwaine has been throwing back his hair, surrounded by hags and veelas while a laughing Leon and Lancelot helped feed the bicorns, who were too busy trying to eat Lancelot’s hair than the buckets of food in their hands.

And then there was Arthur, sitting next to Merlin on the floor, the two of them leaning back against the belly of a sleeping Kilgharrah. His rumbling snores were ruffling Arthur’s hair, who kept trying to unsuccessfully fix it with every breath. Merlin remembered laughing at him for being a vain idiot.

“Don’t laugh,” Arthur had scowled. “It took me hours to style this.”

Merlin had grinned as he leaned into Kilgharrah’s warmth.

“You’ve done a good thing here, Arthur. I can’t count how many lives you’ve helped save.”

“Are you proud of me? You should totally be proud of me.”

Merlin snorted.

“I’m always proud of you,” he said, meaning it more than he could articulate.

“Even when I’m a royal prat?”

“Yes, even then.”

“You know,” Arthur said, his eyes wide and trying far too hard to appear innocent, “this is my last year.”

“I’m aware.”

Arthur looked shamelessly back at Merlin. His confidence levels were almost otherworldly. 

“In less than a month,” he said, his grin slowly widening, salacious enough to be a sex act in itself, “I won’t be your student anymore.”

Merlin’s stomach had flooded with butterflies, scrambling to fight their way out his chest. He tried to tell them to pipe down but they just flailed about with even more excitement, clearly having some sort of hormonal meltdown.

“Arthur-”

“I just wanted you to know,” Arthur said simply, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “You know, just in case I wasn’t obvious enough.”

If he were any more obvious, he would be dragging Merlin backwards by the hair into the nearest cave and having his way with him. Circe help him, but the idea was far too appealing to Merlin than it should have been. 

Despite himself, Merlin ran his eyes over Arthur’s features. He looked so cocky on the outside but there was a vulnerability in his eyes. For all of his grand pick-up lines and his ridiculously flirty gestures, Arthur was nervous.

Merlin turned his head away, the strength of Arthur’s gaze almost too much to bear. It was like looking at the sun. 

“You never give up, do you?” he remarked, his voice shaky despite himself.

“You’re worth waiting for.” Arthur said.

 _So were you, clotpole,_ he thought to himself, pointedly turning his face in the opposite direction so Arthur couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. _Every second of every day, so were you._

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The last day of the year was always a melancholy sort of celebration, especially for the Seventh Year students who would no longer return. There were always tears and hugs, promises to stay in touch, to see one another over summer. 

Gwaine, who was always cocky and effortlessly cool, was unabashedly bawling, holding Percival’s head tightly to his chest and making him promise to love him forever. Elyan, who had just gone through this treatment a few seconds before, was massaging the feeling back into his ears while Lancelot and Leon looked concerned to be next. 

Gwen and Morgana were also sobbing, clinging to one another with so much affection that Merlin almost felt like shedding a tear himself.

They had always had a bond, a fiercely loyal friendship that had been torn apart in Camelot. Now, it looked like nothing on earth could shatter their relationship.

As Merlin left to pack up his empty classroom, he thought about Morgana, how all she needed was love and support to remain the girl he had always been half in love with. He hadn't lost her in Camelot. He had pushed her away. But now, as he thought about the hug she gave Arthur in the Great Hall -- tight and full of love and assurances that they would be always be close -- he finally felt like all was right in the world, 

Which, naturally, was when things went to hell. 

“Merlin!” It was Cadogan and Gryffindor, puffing their way into his classroom, disturbing the painting of David and Goliath for the umpteenth time. Goliath was so annoyed he simply stormed off, conceding the match. Merlin looked at Cadogan and Gryffindor curiously as he packed up his supplies, waving his wand to shrink down his books and place them at the bottom of his trunk in a neat, tidy pile.

“Hello, gentlemen. Don’t tell me you’re having another duel you want me to referee? I’m knackered, could you get the Fat Lady to do it? I’m sure she’s forgiven you Cadogan, after your pony ate all her snacks...”

“No, Merlin, your pensieve! Arthur got in and looked in your pensieve!”

Merlin’s tired smile dropped from his mouth as he looked between them. Seeing the serious looks on their faces, Merlin sprinted out the door. Godric and Cadogan, hard on his heels.

“But the door- my security measures-“ Merlin huffed as he turned the corner, his two friends hurdling from painting to painting to keep up with him, jumping from landscapes to ballrooms. Cadogan had barrelled into a whole dinner party, flipping their table over and covering all the guests with wine and roast dinner. 

“You said Arthur is made from your magic, didn’t you?” Godric asked, huffing to keep up as he jumped into one of the few cubist portraits on the wall, his features turning square and surreal. “Isn’t it possible your magic invited him in like it would you?”

Merlin burst into his office, whirling around to look frantically at his trap door and intruder-eating rug, both of whom seemed to shrug at him in response. Other than his open cupboard door, nothing was out of place. Even Archimedes, who had once been known to peck out the eyes of trespassing Death Eater, hooted back softly.

Merlin’s magic would never have hurt Arthur. It had simply let him walk right in and do what he pleased.

“Is he still in there?!” Merlin demanded, getting matching nods from everything in his office, from his quills to the standing rolls of parchment on his desk. “Circe, I need to go after him.”

“Merlin, wait!” Gryffindor’s voice had called out but Merlin had already dived in, willing the silvery wisps to pull him towards Arthur.

After falling for what felt like an age, he landed with a thud on a horribly familiar patch of grass.

Avalon. 

He had never wanted to come back here again.

 _“I can’t lose him! He’s my friend!”_ He heard his voice scream out, wracked with grief. It took all his strength to turn to face what he knew was coming.

There it was exactly as he had last seen it. Him sobbing, Arthur dead and pale in his arms, Kilgharrah bowing his majestic head with pity and the lake rippling back at him, Freya’s tears disturbing the smooth surface as she shared in Merlin’s grief. 

The only difference to the scene was _his_ Arthur, standing in his school uniform on the bank, staring at the scene before him with stunned silence. For the first time since Arthur returned, Merlin didn’t know what his expression meant and that thought terrified him.

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered, stepping forward tentatively, like he would a spooked animal. 

“You loved him.” Arthur responded, his eyes still on the scene, watching the memory of Merlin tenderly placing his king in that God-awful boat, tears streaming down his face. “That’s the only reason why you ever helped me.”

“That’s not true,” Merlin insisted, stepping forward, feeling desperation cling to him. “Everything I do, I do for you.”

“You did it because you think I’m him.”

“Arthur-“

“But I’m not him, do you hear me, Prof- whoever the blood hell you are! These aren’t my memories! These are yours.”

“Arthur, just let me explain this.”

“You could have had me at any time. I was always yours. But you were always his, weren’t you? This fucking ghost who hasn’t existed for centuries!” The tip of the wand in Arthur’s hand exploded with sparks, like it often did when he was angry or upset.

He stood there tall and imposing, Merlin’s overly-entitled wizard. Merlin would have felt touched by his words but the pain in Arthur’s eyes felt like he was carving a knife into Merlin’s very bones.

And in Merlin’s periphery was the boat, carrying the other Arthur away from him. He was losing him all over again, in both lifetimes.

“Arthur, please… let’s just get out of here so we can talk properly.”

“What does he have that I don’t?” He sounded so hurt, so broken. “Why do you like him so much more than me?”

“I don’t, it’s not like that,” Merlin insisted and it was true. It wasn’t about preferring one to the other. They were both his Arthur, in their separate ways. They were both just as important to him. 

But Arthur wasn’t buying it. The look he threw at Merlin could be classified as nothing else but betrayal before he disappeared from Merlin’s eyes with a silvery wisp of smoke.

Merlin had to follow after him.

With one last look at the boat floating away from him, Merlin determinedly pulled himself out of the memory.

He was back in his office, Godric and Cadogan waiting for him in his portrait of the round table. 

“Where-” Merlin began but he closed his mouth. 

He already knew in his heart where Arthur would be.

━━━✦❘༻༺❘༻༺❘❘༻༺❘༻༺❘✦━━━

It was stormy and raining by the time Merlin ran out towards the Quidditch pitch, sprinting as fast as he could across the grounds. The mud and mulch squelched wetly under his feet, making him slip and slide his way to his destination but he barely noticed. By the time he reached the entrance of the stadium, the rain was practically torrential, weighing down his robes as lightning cracked across the sky like neon veins. 

It was only with the illumination of the lightning that he spotted a lone figure flying on a broom, looping around the Quidditch hoops with a reckless amount of speed.

Only one idiot could be this carelessly cavalier. Annoyingly for Merlin, it was the idiot that belonged to him. 

“Arthur,” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Arthur, get down from there!" 

His words were swallowed up in the thundering noise of the rain, which only drove Merlin further into frustration. He was on the cusp of pulling out his wand and just summoning Arthur to him like he was a misplaced book when a wonky-looking school broom seemed to sashay up to Merlin rather forwardly, wigging its bottom and clearly offering him a ride.

Christ, Merlin hated flying.

This was something Arthur himself clearly knew because the minute Merlin jerkily lifted off the ground and made his way into the air, Arthur had swooped over to him, clearly annoyed. 

"What the hell are you playing at?! You can barely fly in normal weather!" Arthur bellowed, drenched and absolutely furious as he grabbed Merlin by the back of his robes before landing them both safely to the ground. Merlin, who proved he could crash even a foot in the air, did so, landing clumsily onto the grass below with all the grace of an erumpet taking tea in Madam Puddifoot’s. 

The rain was stronger now than ever, pelting down and bouncing off Arthur like hale as the storm above let loose. It made his hair stick to his forehead and his clothes to his skin. He looked like he had been swimming laps.

"What the hell am I playing at? What the hell are _you_ playing at?!" Merlin retorted, furious enough to actually push Arthur's wet shoulder, knowing it was against every school regulation but not caring. He was thrumming with so much anger that he just couldn't contain it anymore. "Only you would be stupid enough to fly during a lightning storm! You take centuries to come back and you go and do something reckless like this?"

"I'm sorry, not Arthur enough for you?" Arthur sneered out, eyes blazing as his lips began to go blue. "I bet he wouldn't do something this stupid, right? Because he was perfect!" 

"Of course he wasn't perfect! He was pig headed and reckless and a complete moron half the time - he also threw himself constantly into stupid situations, just like you're doing!"

"What do you care what I do?!" 

"Arthur, I can't watch you die again! Don't you get that?!"

"I already told you, I'm not him! Do _you_ get that?! You're so obsessed with seeing him that you don't see me!"

"That's not true," Merlin said resolutely, shaking his head. "There is so much to you, Arthur."

"Is there?'!" Arthur snapped. "You name one thing different! One thing you like in me more!"

Merlin shook his head. There was so much that it was impossible to say it all.

"The way your eyes light up when you do magic. The way you embrace it. The way you let me embrace mine. The fact you fight against inequality and prejudice even though you were raised as a pureblood. The fact you're absolutely hopeless at potions but incredible at duelling and put everyone to shame in DADA without even trying. The way you mess your hair up whenever someone passes by. God, Arthur, I don't think there's anything I _don't_ like about you. How can you fail to see that when it's obvious to absolutely everyone else?"

They were both silent, staring at each other, chests heaving like they'd run a marathon as the rain continued to beat down.

After what seemed like an age, Arthur wet his already soaking lips and shakily said,

"Everyone knows I messed my hair up for you, you moron," and then he was kissing him, hungrily, desperately, before Merlin could even work out what that even meant.

"Arthur, wait-" he tried to interject but Arthur was kissing him breathlessly, as though he would never have a chance at this again, his hands running up and down Merlin's body like he was trying to memorise the feel of him forever.

And Merlin, weak, _weak_ Merlin, couldn’t deny himself this. As much as he had tried to stop himself falling again, how could he not tumble head over heels for every version of Arthur?

Clutching Arthur fiercely to him, Merlin pressed his lips into his temple with a possessiveness that terrified him a little.

Their eyes met, gold meeting gold.

“You were made for me, Arthur; how could you ever think I didn’t love you?” he murmured.

Arthur moaned, "Merlin," in such a throaty, achingly familiar voice that it went straight to Merlin's groin. Before Merlin could do anything about it, however, Arthur had pulled back, suddenly looking pale and sick. "Merlin," he repeated, his voice cracking, his entire body shaking with sudden realisation. "You absolute bloody clotpole."

Merlin felt his knees almost buckling, hope blooming desperately in his chest."Arthur?" he whispered, his voice small and helpless but Arthur had swept him into a crushing hug, burying his wet face in Merlin's neck. "Is it... do you remember...?"

"I remember _everything_." Arthur said, his voice shaking as pulled back to look at Merlin, his knuckles white as they clutched at Merlin’s upper arms. "The battle of Camlann... Mordred," Arthur suddenly clutched his abdomen at the memory, as though he could still feel the pain of that fatal wound. He looked back up at Merlin, rain water still lashing at his face, dripping off his eyelashes and the tip of his nose. “I remember dying. I remember you.”

It was suddenly all too much.

Merlin felt like he should have been beaming for joy but all he did was let out a guttural sort of sob, his knees giving out from under him. 

Merlin had only just accepted his fate. He had only just accepted that Arthur might not ever remember him again and he had honestly made peace with it. Merlin knew the Arthur he had was all he needed to be happy, even if he couldn’t recall their shared history like Gaius could.

But he _had_ remembered. Merlin had waited so long for this. Merlin had waited centuries for _this_. 

The only reason he didn’t collapse onto the muddy grass under his feet was because Arthur was holding him tight, keeping him upright despite the fact his legs had turned into jelly.

“Merlin. _Merlin_ ,” Arthur was saying in astonishment, in awe. The arm that wasn’t around Merlin’s waist was raised up towards Merlin’s face, fingers ghosting across Merlin’s cheekbones like he was trying to recapture a long forgotten memory. “It’s… it’s really you. It was always you. All this time. I knew we were connected but… _Merlin_.”

That voice, that tone. The exasperation and the love and the sheer amount of history it conveyed. 

This was the Arthur who fought at his side for Ealdor, the Arthur who rode out to find him when Morgana had placed the Fomorroh in his neck. And this was also the same Arthur who accosted him at Madam Puddifoot’s, pretended not to be in love with a Mimbulus Mimbletonia and fought like a demon for the rights of magical beings, selflessly putting his own life on the line countless times.

He was, unequivocally, the other side of Merlin’s coin. Because even when he didn’t know about Merlin’s magic in Camelot -- even when he couldn’t recall being a legendary king -- every incarnation of Arthur knew Merlin better than he did himself.

“You came back to me,” Merlin choked out, his hands weakly grasping at Arthur’s sleeves, holding as tight as he could. He wasn’t sure he could ever let go. “You absolute cabbagehead, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Arthur’s fingers had moved from Merlin’s cheekbone to comb through his hair, the touch almost uncharacteristically gentle. This, of course, lasted two seconds because Arthur promptly narrowed his eyes and smacked Merlin about the head. 

"Ow!" cried Merlin, before resolutely whacking Arthur back. "What was that for, you psychopath? You totally wrecked the mood!"

"That was for not telling me about your magic sooner, you idiot!” Arthur suddenly bellowed, rising up like the king he clearly still was. “Of all the stupid, half-witted-- you confess on the day I died? Seriously, Merlin. Could you have left it any later!?"

"Your father would have cut my head off!" Merlin scowled petulantly even as a part of him danced inside. He was squabbling with Arthur about his _magic_ of all things. At the time, confessing to Arthur that he was a sorcerer felt like the most terrifying thing in the world. Now it was barely a blip, an ancient problem from long ago. “Besides, it’s not like you didn’t take it badly, you prat! Telling you who I was is still the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.”

"Oh, don't be a baby, Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “Are you a Gryffindor or aren't you?"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm a Slytherin," Merlin said truthfully, waiting for the horror to claw over Arthur’s face. Arthur didn’t disappoint, looking so disgusted it was enough to make Merlin snort with laughter. “I take it all back,” Merlin said, grinning so widely his cheeks actually ached, “I haven’t missed you at all,”

“Liar,” Arthur pointed out, his patented self-satisfaction emanating off him like waves.

Merlin didn’t deny it. How could he when nothing could be further from the truth? Drinking in Arthur’s features, Merlin tried to pick up on the small differences his new-found memory had brought him but he just looked like his Arthur. Just as beautiful and pig-headed and stubborn as always.

“It’s really still you,” he asked softly, more to himself than to Arthur. He had been terrified he would change, that he would lose him if his memory returned.

Arthur seemed to understand what he meant because he scratched his head, looking a little puzzled himself.

“It’s like… a switch going off in my head, I guess. Things I always knew but couldn’t quite remember. I still like Quidditch and fizzing whizbees. Although, I think we should bring back tourneys when I become king. They were fun, even if you were the most useless manservant ever.” He then blinked. “Shut up, this all makes sense in my head.”

Merlin was very sure he was ugly-crying but he didn’t care.

“Waited centuries for one Arthur and now I get two at once,” Merlin grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Please tell me that means I can snog you now.” Arthur said tightening his grip around Merlin, leaning in and looking hopeful. “That’s a yes, right? You’re not my teacher anymore. I’m also technically older than you, grandpa. I’m practically geriatric, soul-wise. Also, you owe me snogs from all the lies you’ve told me over the years. It’s compensation.”

“Arthur-” Merlin chastised before slapping the hand Arthur tried to smoothly sneak down to his bottom. “Behave yourself.”

Letting out a cheeky grin, Arthur opened his mouth -- no doubt to say something crass enough to make Merlin go maroon -- when something quite literally knocked the wind out of Merlin’s lungs, making him fly metres through the air and away from Arthur.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried out, immediately rushing towards where he had fallen but he seemed to come up against a magical barrier of some sort, as though an invisible wall now stood between him and Merlin. 

Clutching his stomach, Merlin winced, annoyed he had been taken by surprise. He pulled out his wand, ready to fight (because, frankly, he had learned to always be ready to fight) when what looked like an entire squad of Beast Snatchers circled him, their wands pointed directly at him. Merlin was almost embarrassed he hadn’t noticed them before.

 _Ah, shit,_ he thought. It appeared the jig was up. 

Merlin raised his arms slowly, wondering exactly what had given him away. He was sure he had been careful.

The Beast Snatcher closest to him sneered, his wand so close it almost poked Merlin in the eye. Given the fact he was the ugliest, Merlin has a feeling this one was in charge. The man had a shrunken sort of face, his skin sallow and his face was almost rat-like. He looked far more inhuman than anything he had ever rounded up.

“Merlin Emrys, by the authority of the Minister of Magic himself, you are under arrest.”

“For what!?” Arthur suddenly bellowed out like the contrarian he was. “What kind of ridiculousness is this? You can’t just go around arresting innocent citizens.”

One of the younger Beast Snatchers, who looked a little starstruck by Arthur, bowed so deferentially at him that his nose almost scraped the floor.

“Your highness,” he said a little breathlessly, his face so pink Merlin momentarily looked up at the heavens in exasperation. Did everyone have a crush on the clotpole? “Emrys here’s been accused of harbouring dangerous beasts. We need to take him in.”

“Dangerous beasts?” Merlin commented almost jovially, looking at each of the men in the eye with a smile, his arms still up. Merlin counted about two dozen Beast Snatchers. It almost seemed like overkill. “Dear me, I didn’t realise the hinkypunks in my tank would cause such a ruckus.”

“This isn’t about the hinkypunks,” said the rat-faced man with a frown. He didn’t seem like the happiest of guys.

“Is this about the mooncalves?” Merlin continued to stall, tilting his head with faux deep thought. He even furrowed his brow. “They do get a little moody when you don’t feed them on time. Is it that?”

“No!” the head Beast Snatcher yelled out, getting annoyed now. He flickered an embarrassed gaze towards Arthur, clearly not appreciating Merlin showing him up in front of the prince. “Just come with us, Emrys. We’re escorting you back to the Ministry. From there you’ll be formally charged, then sent to Azkaban to await trial.”

“Yeah, sorry, that’s not happening,” Merlin said almost apologetically.

The rat-faced Beast Snatcher blinked.

_“What?”_

Merlin slowly lowered his arms, his magic thrumming all around him. He could feel it in the wind, rustling the Quidditch banners in every corner of the pitch. Even the hoops creaked in response. He let in a deep inhale, the taste of something in the air. His entire body spread with warmth, like he had fallen into a bath of bluebell flames.

He could see the magic emanating from him like floating gold dust, swirling around every individual finger and could feel it gleaming in every strand of hair. But it was only when the Beast Snatchers took a look at Merlin’s eyes that they hastily stepped back, looking a mixture of both terrified and amazed.

“What _are_ you?” said the Beast Snatcher.

“I am magic,” Merlin replied, his voice booming without him realising it, echoing around the pitch.

The head Beast Snatcher’s face went from confusion to want almost instantly. He looked Merlin up and down, the greed in his eyes almost tangible.

“You’re a creature of magic.” he said. “You’re an anomaly. You’re a _beast_. Dawkins, change of plans. Get the collar. We’re taking this one to the Menagerie.”

“If you take him, you take me,” Arthur thundered out, whipping out his wand in record speed. The Beast Snatchers then gasped when Arthur’s eyes shone back at them, just as yellow as Merlin’s. “Would you like to explain to the King why you arrested his only son?”

The Beast Snatchers looked at one another with unmitigated bewilderment, clearly debating what to do in such an unprecedented situation. Arthur was the prince. Arthue was a creature of magic. Their minds seemed to have collectively blown in uncertainty at once.

It was just when the head Beast Snatcher finally broke out of his daze and lifted his wand towards Arthur when an almighty roar came from the stands.

An almighty, _collective_ roar.

It was the beings. _All_ of them. The goblins and the veela, the centaurs and the vampires. The untransformed werewolves and the hags. They were all there, their wands and their magic trained on the Beast Snatchers, surrounding them from all sides, trapping them like they were vermin. 

Lavender Brown looked fierce as she pointed her wand directly at the rat-faced man, a dolled-up Mary Collins to her left and a frowning but stern looking Newt Scamander to her right. Hagrid was also there, Grawp balancing him on his shoulder, while Madame Maxime sat on the other. 

Then there were the dragons, the hundreds of dragons, flying through the air like synchronised paper planes with Kilgharrah at the head of them, directing the charge. 

And, if that wasn’t enough, finally, just entering the field were all of Arthur’s knights with Gwen and Morgana leading the way, looking as fierce and as dangerous as they ever had. 

Merlin felt almost breathless looking at them all, feeling the sheer amount of magic that was concentrated in that stadium at that very moment. It was heady and exhilarating, like drinking a cupful of the strongest wine, letting it burn pleasantly down your throat. The magic in the air was raising every hair on Merlin’s body.

It was then, at that moment, that he truly believed everything would be alright.

And then Uther showed up.

The monarch had marched onto the field with Minister Aredian and a countless number of Ministry officials behind them. Taking one look at his son, his eyes almost bulged out from his head.

“Arthur!” he cried out imperiously. “Arthur, come here this instant!”

“No, father,” Arthur said, shaking his head. His eyes were watery, grief laden as he looked at his father but his jaw was strong, his lips determined. He then turned to look up at all the beings in the stands and on the field before ending his gaze looking at Merlin. The amount of raw love in that look was enough to knock the breath out of Merlin’s lungs. “I am standing exactly right where I want to be.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, feeling their combined magic draw itself towards Arthur, swirling around him like a protective shield. 

Arthur was glowing.

Uther looked like he had seen a ghost.

“No…” he moaned, sounding in pain. “What is the meaning of this? What did these abominations do to you?”

“Do to me? I was born this way!” Arthur thundered out, frustrated, angry, hurt. He then gestured to the beings and creatures all around him. “We were all born this way, father.”

 _I was born with it!_ Merlin remembered from a hundred lifetimes ago. Uther had been coldly furious then but it was nothing compared to the Uther of now, who was looking in horror at his son’s eyes. He was almost floundering, unsure what to do. Merlin had never seen him like this.

“I’ll get you help, Arthur,” he finally said when he could get his mouth moving again, a sort of desperate edge to his usual unflappable tone. “We’ll remove whatever this corruption is.” 

“This isn’t about fixing me, father,” Arthur said, his eyes pleading for his father to understand. “I’m not broken.”

But Uther wasn’t listening, wrapped up in his own self pity. 

“I blame myself. I’ve always been too soft on you. After your mother, I tried to give you everything but I see I’ve failed. I’ve made you weak, spineless...”

Merlin stepped forward, unable to take it anymore. Forgetting his wand, he was ready to punch Uther until his crown flew off when the most unlikely of voices squeaked out,

“You is not talking about Master Artie that way!”

It was Winky, dressed in the tiniest set of armour Merlin had ever seen, her raised hands crackling threateningly at Uther with elemental magic. Behind her were what looked like a hundred house elves, similarly dressed, their faces fierce and their teeth gnashing. 

It was a sight so fantastical, so absurd, so _brilliant_ , that Merlin could have never imagined it in his wildest dreams.

“Where did they get all the tiny outfits and swords from?” Elyan leaned over to ask Leon, who looked baffled himself.

“Let’s just say I remembered that I used to be a pretty good seamstress once,” Gwen responded as she sidled up beside them, wand out. Looking over at Merlin, she gave him a smile he hadn’t seen for centuries.

Every cell, every atom in Merlin sang with joy.

Gwen remembered. 

And, looking around at them all, she wasn’t the only one. 

There was Morgana, cold fury in her eyes as she wore her own set of armour, so similar to the one she had donned in Ealdor.

Then there were the former knights, who clearly had returned to form. Their wand stances were fierce and experienced as they stood perfectly positioned behind Arthur, like they had stood so many times on the battlefield. As always, they were loyal until the end.

And lastly there was Arthur himself, leading the charge at the front. Still in his uniform but wearing it proudly as he had any suit of armour that had come before it. 

Only one thing was missing. Merlin smiled the moment he saw it approaching. 

“Ah, right on schedule,” he said as Archimedes flew towards them, the sorting hat clutched in his talons. Swooping down, the owl dropped the hat gracefully into Arthur’s hands.

Looking at Merlin, Arthur blinked at him a little stupidly.

“I don’t think now is the time to get sorted, Merlin,” he said.

“Just reach inside, clotpole,” he said. Arthur, to his credit, didn’t talk back and actually did what he was told but the accompanying look of annoyance was practically a rebuke in itself.

And then Arthur blinked when his hand wrapped around a very familiar handle.

“Welcome back, your majesty,” Merlin beamed as Excalibur herself was pulled out. “Freya says ‘You’re welcome’.”

“Isn’t that the Sword of Gryffindor?” someone gasped.

Arthur almost huffed.

“It was mine first,” he said possessively, pulling it out to study it like one would a favourite child. Arthur then turned to look at his father. “I don’t want to fight you, father, please call your men off.”

Uther was running his eyes over the field, a look of revulsion on his face as he took in the scene. The army of house-elves bared their teeth at him, the magical beings in the stands were pouring out onto the grassy field below and the dragons circling above them began flying lower, gnashing their jaws. The knights were focused and battle-ready, Gwen pursed her lips in determination and Morgana looked so dangerous that she could have disembowelled a man with her stare alone.

He finished by looking at Arthur, tall, proud and fierce Arthur, so formidable looking that the army behind him almost didn’t matter, Excalibur raised and ready. He looked like he could take them all on his own.

“I love you Arthur,” Uther said. “But I won’t allow you to destroy my kingdom.” He then turned to the Ministry men behind them, his eyes as cold as Merlin had ever seen them. “Round them all up.”

Within seconds, it was pandemonium. Spells were flying, Beast Snatchers and creatures were clashing and house elves were shrieking and taking Uther’s men out by the knees. Wayward curses ricocheted off Protego charms, blasting into the now empty Quidditch stands and causing the banners to set themselves alight in record time, going up in smoke as though they had been attacked by a series of fireballs.

Looking up at Kilgharrah and his dragons flying above them all, Merlin opened his mouth, the commands of a dragonlord thundering out his mouth with so much strength that the very ground under his feet rumbled.

“O drakon!” he bellowed deeply.

Immediately every dragon in the vicinity turned to him as one, their faces sharp and obedient. Merlin then just stared at them. Instinctively, they knew exactly what he wanted.

With a nod of their heads, they swooped down collectively, breathing out lines of fire that helped to separate the Ministry’s men from Arthur and his allies. Dragon after dragon flew in a row, criss-crossing as they breathed out their fiery borders and scorched the grass and earth like burning ley lines.

Arthur, who had knocked out so many Beast Snatchers with the blunt side of his sword that they were beginning to become a towering pile by his feet, stared at Merlin’s dragon wrangling in total wonder, his mouth agape. His face was dirty and slightly bloody as he pointed almost dumbfoundedly at the dragons, as though he had never seen one before.

As gorgeous as he was, Merlin appreciated how much of a complete buffoon Arthur was sometimes.

“Whuh?” Arthur said articulately, still pointing at the dragons as he appeared to have lost the ability to string a basic sentence together. 

Gwaine, on other hand, was as loquacious as always.

“Bloody hell, Merlin!” he said, battling cheerfully on Arthur’s left. He had somehow managed to find a breakable object and slam it down on a Beast Snatcher’s head with relish. “That’s incredible. Could you always do that? Also-” here he threw back his hair, his teeth shining, “-hi. I missed you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Trust me, I know!” Merlin replied, beaming back at Gwaine as he dodged out of the way of particularly nasty hex. For once, he didn’t curse himself for getting teary-eyed. It had been fifteen hundred years, damn it. He felt like he had earned a little emotionality. 

“We should all go for a drink after this,” Elyan insisted, vaulting over a firecrab as it set a Beast Snatcher’s robes on fire. “What do you reckon?”

“I'm free!” Lancelot yelled from somewhere across the field.

“Excellent, so am I,” Gwaine said cheerfully, knocking the heads of two enemies together. “Gwen, Percival! You're both free for a drink tonight, aren’t you?”

“Is this the best time to plan a reunion?!” Leon barked out with exasperation, blasting a Ministry official before he could take Elyan’s head off with a curse. 

“Well, this has all happened rather suddenly,” Morgana returned breathlessly, breaking the nose of the enemy behind her with a perfectly timed elbow to the face. She then threw up a Protego shield in front of herself and Merlin, causing the spell that was aimed at them to bounce back onto its recipient. Looking at Merlin, she narrowed her eyes in a way that made Merlin flinch. “You and I need to have a chat after all this is over,” she said through an intense glare, her green eyes swirling. 

Merlin winced but nodded. She might take a while to forgive him but he had a feeling she eventually would. 

“We will, I promise,” he vowed.

“Good,” she said tartly before stupefying three people with one spell. “Now, go look after Arthur. You know he’s bloody useless without you. And he needs you right now.”

She gave him a meaningful look which was when Merlin remembered that she was a seer.

Quickly looking across the field to find Arthur, Merlin paled when he noticed that Arthur was duelling none other than Uther himself.

It was a spectacle to witness. Uther was a highly accomplished duellist. He had won championships in his youth and it showed. Holding his wand like the hilt of a sword, Uther had enchanted the magic at the end of it to form the shape of a blade -- as Newt had often used his own to form a magical umbrella. Uther parried and ducked and didn’t seem to be holding anything back, which truly showed just how far his hatred had taken him.

But as good a fighter as he was, he couldn’t compare with Arthur. Arthur had always been an excellent dueller during his years at Hogwarts but coupled with his memories of Camelot, he had unlocked his previous fighting skills as well. As much as Merlin used to roll his eyes at how much the prat would show off for every tourney, there was a damn good reason why Arthur had handily won them all. He was, quite simply, the greatest fighter in the kingdom.

Uther clearly recognised this because he was beginning to look panicked, Excalibur countering his every move with barely a thought, barely any effort.

“Damn it, Arthur!” he boomed, as Arthur advanced, the prince’s face both cool and focused. “You _will_ yield!”

“I won’t,” Arthur said simply, resolute in that way only he could be. His voice was as final as the grave. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

His face was so stubborn, so pigheaded and obstinate that Merlin found himself falling in love all over again. Clearly, he had terrible taste.

But Uther wasn’t nearly as affected by it. Raising his wand again, he let loose a series of vicious strikes, unpredictable and volatile enough to make Merlin rush forward before Arthur was struck. Winky got there before he did, however.

She sprinted forward, her tiny armoured frame somehow as formidable as Grawp’s at that moment, her magic swirling around her hands as she blasted Uther back.

But Uther managed to let out one more wild swipe and Arthur, being the self-sacrificing dolt he had always been, threw himself forward to shove Winky out of the way. 

It felt like it happened in slow motion. Merlin watched in horror as an arc of red burst across Arthur’s abdomen, spraying droplets of blood in the air. Merlin could see them, could _count_ them, as Arthur slowly fell towards the floor, gasping in pain.

Merlin caught him before he even realised he had moved, both of them falling to the muddy ground below them.

“No…” Merlin could barely hear his own voice. He felt like he was drowning in icy water, detached from his senses at the bottom of an endless ocean, unable to hear or talk. “No, please… not again… Arthur, you can’t do this to me again.”

Arthur’s body was heavy in his arms, his eyes heavy but fighting to stay awake as he searched out Merlin’s face.

“Ow,” he winced, grabbing the deep wound on his side. “This feels bloody familiar.”

“Don't joke about that!” Merlin choked out, panic overwhelming him at how pale Arthur looked. He looked exactly as he had when he had died on the banks on Avalon. Merlin couldn’t watch this again. He would never recover, he knew it.

Placing his hand over the wound desperately -- the blood slippery and warm against his fingers -- Merlin urgently tried every healing spell he knew. 

“Gestepe hole! Þurhhæle! Þurhhæle dolgbenn! Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ æ! _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ æ!_ ”

To Merlin’s despair, none of them seemed to work as Arthur quickly began to fade from life. Merlin could feel it, Arthur’s magic waning as he did. Merlin’s soul was slowly being torn in half, the pain more excruciating than the most powerful Cruciatus curse. 

With what looked like the remaining strength he had left, Arthur lifted a hand to brush Merlin’s cheekbone before flicking his ear in the most prattish, Arthur-like gesture that it made Merlin let out a sob.

“Hey,” Arthur asked with a smirk, blood on his teeth, his words slurring, “now I’m dying, do I get another kiss?” 

Merlin let out a horrible cry of anguish, He didn’t know what else to do. He pressed his forehead to Arthur’s, his skin already feeling cold and clammy.

And then he remembered Mary Collins’ words, all the way back in Arthur’s first year.

_You have to use your bond to heal him. You have to believe you can do it._

What else did he have to lose?

Pushing all the magic he had in him into Arthur, Merlin watched it glow over the surface of Arthur’s skin, like a suspended gold shroud. But it wasn’t enough, Arthur was still fading. So Merlin pushed himself more, reaching into the deepest reserves inside of himself to give him everything he had, every last drop he had inside himself. With every bit of magic he transferred to Arthur, he could feel himself disappearing. 

His head was reeling and the tips of his fingers felt cold as he drained himself. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this was what bleeding out felt like. 

Somewhere, Merlin could hear Gaius’ panicked voice. 

“Merlin, stop, you’re going to kill yourself!”

But Merlin’s magic had spread around them, surrounded them like an impenetrable orb that no one could get through. 

Colour was beginning to flood back into Arthur’s cheeks. Merlin would have cried out with relief but he was already seizing, his body spasming in shock, just as Arthur’s golden eyes snapped open.

“Merlin, you idiot! Merlin what did you do?!”

“I-I love you, Arthur.” Even though he could barely move his lips, even though he was pretty sure he sounded garbled and was probably just slurring like a drunkard, Merlin had to get this out. He had had it in his chest for so long. If he died, he wanted Arthur to know -- he wanted it to be _known --_ how much he had always cared, how his love for him had always been the driving force behind everything he did. “I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry I lied.”

Merlin had a feeling he was smiling as he faded away but it didn’t matter. Even as Arthur screamed at him to come back, he knew it had all been worth it.

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“Arthur?”

Even before he knew if he was alive or dead, the name was out of Merlin’s mouth instinctively.

“Easy, Merlin,” it was Gaius, sounding so relieved to see him that Merlin let himself bask in his familiar voice. “You need to save your strength. How are you feeling?”

“Is this heaven?” Merlin let himself ask honestly because Gaius seemed to be glowing with an almost ethereal, other-worldly glow. “Are you an angel?” 

The eyebrow Gaius gave him was decidedly not angelic. He even lifted his hand to give Merlin a light smack on the back of the head before realising he probably shouldn’t go around assaulting his patients, especially when he had witnesses.

And he sure had a lot of witnesses.

Lifting himself up into a sitting position, Merlin looked around the hospital wing to see the other injured students and beings from the battle, staring boggle-eyed at him. 

Leon and Elyan had been comparing battle scars with a pair of goblins before staring at Merlin while Lancelot, who had been tending to Grawp’s finger through a window (where the giant was patiently standing on the lawn outside), froze mid-bandage to gawp.

Even the infamously unphased Gwaine, who was there chatting up a hag with a broken arm, spotted Merlin and goggled at him as well.

Merlin looked at Gaius in confusion, still woozy.

“Er.. did I miss something?”

“Word of your true identity seems to have run rampant through the school,” Gaius explained as Firenze, who had always bowed at Merlin when he passed anyway, looked a hair away from throwing himself at Merlin’s feet and sobbingly declaring him his Lord and Saviour. ”It might have something to do with the hundreds of dragons you managed to summon, all of whom just happen to be snoozing in the middle of the Quidditch field, by the by.”

Merlin could just imagine them sleeping top-and-tail like a giant, fire-breathing slumber party.

Madam Hooch must have been losing her mind about the state of her field. At least Hagrid, would be happy. Merlin imagined he was already at pitch, hugging one of the giant dragons and bawling with pure happiness.

Then Gaius’ words really hit home.

Everyone knew about him. His true identity, the one he had preserved for so long, was finally out of the bag. The sheer weight of this made Merlin droop back against the headboard of his bed, as though it was pressing down on him.

“Oh God,” he croaked, thinking about the sheer magnitude of what this meant. “Tell me you’ve been denying it.”

Gaius huffed, clearly irritated.

“There’s only so much I can do, Merlin, when you go around performing death-defying stunts and bonding with Arthur in an ancient ritual in front of everyone. If it helps, Sir Cadogan is trying to help keep your secret but I fear the fact he keeps winking theatrically after every exclamation of denial isn't helping,”

Oh Cadagon. 

“Where’s Arthur?” 

“Talking with Harry Potter.” 

Merlin sat up at that.

“Harry’s here? Why?”

“Apparently, a lot of illegal conduct had been going on with the Menagerie. Money laundering, smuggling and the experimentation on the beings. Harry, Hermione and Ron had just been exposing it all when Uther and the Ministry came to arrest you.”

“They should talk to Newt,” Merlin insisted, hope blossoming in his chest. If anyone could get things changed for the better, it was Harry Potter. He was still the most influential wizard in the land, although Arthur was beginning to give him a run for his money. 

“Newt is already giving them a statement,” Gaius assured him. “He’ll prove to be an excellent witness, as long as he doesn’t have to look anyone in the eye.”

Newt Scamander. Sometimes Merlin wondered what he would have done without him. For a man people deemed as anti-social, he was the most compassionate person Merlin had ever known.

“Merlin?” It was Gwen, looking at him tentatively but with a love and affection he had missed dearly. Behind her were the others, looking scratched-up and a little singed but whole and relatively healthy. “Are you really the same Merlin from Camelot? I mean, I know you're obviously you _you_ because I remember your face,” she fudged, as wonderfully awkward as always, “but… have you really been alive all this time? I just... you’re Magic Itself, aren’t you?”

“Er, yeah, I suppose I am,” Merlin said, scratching behind his ear a little sheepishly, afraid that he was a terrible disappointment.. It was frightfully embarrassing, having to own up to being the most notorious wizard in the world, especially because he was a clumsy oaf most of the time. 

If anyone knew that, it was this group of people, who had seen him pelted by rotten food in the stocks and covered in horse manure as he mucked out the royal stables. Elyan was clearly remembering the manure because he wrinkled his nose, as though he could still smell it.

“This is bloody surreal,” he said but he was soon grinning. “You do know there are about a hundred reporters crowding outside the school to talk to you, don’t you?”

“Oh bugger, there aren’t, are they?” Merlin said, blanching. Merlin hated reporters. 

“Honestly, it’s like a mini festival out there,” Leon said with sympathy. “They’re not allowed on the castle grounds so they’ve all sort of piled into Hogsmeade with tents and placards with your face on it.” 

“Rita Skeeter somehow managed to get to the front and is demanding you explain where you’ve been hiding all these years,” Gwen said with a grimace, as empathetic as always. “I heard a rumour she’s already started writing a book about you.”

Merlin had always known his name had become something of a legend over time but the fact his reveal was the equivalent to the return of Jesus in the Wizarding World was overwhelming. 

“Minerva is going to kill me,” he said with genuine fear.

Percy just smiled at him softly, shaking his head.

“I still can’t believe it,” he said, looking Merlin over in amazement. “You were my teacher but you’re also the same Merlin who came with me to the tavern, the one we used to pull pranks on...”

“The stew,” Elyan recalled.

“The stew,” Leon nodded.

“It really was good stew,” Gwaine added, sauntering over to lean his elbow on Elyan’s shoulder, who hissed and cursed him out when he accidentally grazed an acutely bad bruise.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Lancelot joined in as he approached, his gaze as knowing as always. “Hello, old friend.” Merlin felt himself basking in the warmth of Lancelot’s gaze. Lancelot his confidante, who had been one of the only people who truly knew who he was. The look Lancelot was giving him told Merlin he remembered every secret, every hushed plan they had concocted together. Considering the fact he had been there the whole time, Merlin had _missed_ him almost cruelly. 

Gwaine looked between them curiously, clearly noticing that they were having a moment.

“Voldemort’s saggy balls, Lancelot, you’re not in love with Merlin too, are you? I mean, _I_ clearly am, but Arthur’s whipped enough. I swear, if I have to hear any more of his God awful poetry, I’ll end up defecting and joining Uther.”

“I always thought poetry was a euphemism,” Leon muttered to himself.

Merlin decided to pass right over that.

“Talking of Arthur-” Merlin began and everyone groaned at once.

“Here they go again,” Elyan said to Percival, who nodded with amusement, his arms crossing over a chest almost large enough to play Quidditch on. 

“They’re as bad as each other,” Lancelot agreed, making Merlin turn to him with betrayal. Lancelot was supposed to be his favourite.

“They were always like this, I don’t know why anyone is surprised,” Gwen responded from where she had perched herself on the end of Merlin’s bed, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“No, we weren’t-” Merlin tried to argue but Gwen simply snorted.

“Merlin, I always knew there were two men in my marriage.” she said gently, her eyes as uncommonly kind as always. “Luckily, I loved you enough not to mind.”

“Kinky,” Gwaine said to Leon with a salacious smirk.

That was Merlin’s cue to get out of bed.

“Where on earth are you going?” Gaius demanded, magically appearing at Merlin’s side. He was holding a bedpan like a weapon as Merlin weakly got to his feet. “I’ve not discharged you yet.”

“I need to find Arthur.”

“I told you, he’s talking to Harry-”

“Actually, he’s in your office.” It was Morgana, looking at him with those sharp, intense eyes that saw more than almost everyone else. There was so much that was left unsaid between them but, as she quirked her mouth slightly, Merlin realised they would be okay. “If you go now, you’ll catch him.” She then looked down at his hospital gown, his knobbly knees on full show and raised an eyebrow so critical that Gaius must have been tutoring her on weekends. “You might want to put some trousers on first though.”

“What’s the point?” Gwaine asked, causing Merlin to turn around and glare at him. Utterly unphased, Gwaine just grinned even wider. “You better go get ‘im, tiger. Destiny’s awaiting.


	16. The Return of the King

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**2011-**

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When Merlin walked into his office to see a bemused Arthur being doted on by every possible object he owned, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

As Arthur stood in the middle of the room, the objects surrounded him like fans at a Weird Sisters concert. Merlin’s quills and books excitedly swirled around Arthur in midair, with one of the books being bold enough to brush Arthur’s cheek before flying off to its friends to flap its pages furiously, as though it was squealing about it to them. They flapped back with just as much excitement, loose pages flying everywhere. Merlin’s clothes were also in on the action, with his jacket seeming to have animated itself as though it had been worn by an invisible man, clinging to Arthur’s back like a horny  demiguise .

The only object that wasn’t trying to grope him appeared to be Merlin’s loyal tea set, although it had made so many cups of tea for Arthur that it had exhausted itself, with Merlin’s teapot snoring so loudly that its lid rattled.

“Alright, alright,” Merlin said, flapping his arms to shoo the objects away like a sea of lovesick hornets. “Geroff. Leave him alone - oi, you, get your hand  _ off _ that.” 

The jacket, which tried to move its sleeve towards Arthur’s bottom, had the good grace to look ashamed, its arms and shoulders drooping with repentance. Arthur turned to Merlin, a giant grin on his face.

“You saving my virtue? Because I was sort of enjoying that.”

“You would,” Merlin muttered, rolling his eyes when Arthur threw a wink at the jacket as it sashayed back to its coat stand. By the way the jacket seized up and fell to the floor, Merlin had the feeling it had passed out in a fit of fangirl.

“Would you please stop seducing my things?” Merlin groaned.

“Can I move onto seducing you instead then?” Arthur asked with a cocksure smile, reaching for Merlin’s hand to tug him closer. ‘Because that’s my ultimate goal here.”

Merlin’s entire body shivered with that as he stumbled over. He firmly told it to get a grip.

“So I heard you talked to Harry,” he said instead, changing the subject. Arthur’s hand cupping at the underside of his jaw really wasn’t helping him concentrate. “What… what did he say?”

Arthur’s bravado dropped slightly, a soft frown appearing on his mouth.

“That father’s in custody, awaiting trial. He’ll be locked away for a long time if they find him guilty.”

“How do you feel about that?” Merlin broached tentatively. As horrendous as Uther always had been, no one had loved him like Arthur had.

“How the hell do you think I feel?” Arthur snapped, looking pained. “He’s my father, I love him, I never wanted this to happen.”

“Arthur, you did the right thing…”

“I know that. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I feel like I betrayed him. Which, you know, is a first for me. Everyone usually betrays me first.” 

“That’s not true,” Merlin said with veracity. 

“ _ You _ lied to me for years so don’t you bloody start,” Arthur humphed, even as the hand he had on Merlin’s jaw stroked at it absently. Clearly, he was still miffed about this, even after a millenia. Merlin rolled his eyes. The prat always was one to hold onto a grudge. 

As much as Merlin wanted to deny it, he knew Arthur had a point.

Merlin had hidden so much from Arthur, from being a sorcerer back in Camelot to his true identity at Hogwarts. He didn’t want to lie anymore. He wanted them to be open about everything.

Which was why he let out a deep breath, steeled himself and said,

“I want to show you something.”

“Is it a naked something?” Arthur returned hopefully, his eyebrows waggling like a moron. “Because I heartily approve.” 

Merlin walloped him. Arthur let out a ridiculous bray of a laugh that shouldn’t have been charming but somehow managed to be, defying all known laws of sound.

“It’s a pensieve.”

“Another one?”

“Yes, another pensieve, dollophead. A different one to the one you jumped into - which, by the by? Was a total invasion of privacy, you nosy git.”

Artur shrugged, not even the slightest bit sorry.

“I knew you were hiding something. I just didn’t realise it was you being my thousand-year-old ex-servant-boyfriend. Which, you know, was a surprise. Anyway, what’s so special about this pensieve then? Are you nak-”

“No one is naked in it, Arthur.” Merlin moaned, rubbing at his temples before he got a migraine. The combination of Arthur’s devotion to him and a teenager’s sex drive was enough to make him want to stick his head in a boiling cauldron. “This pensieve has everything I ever hid from you in Camelot. I made it especially for you so try to be grateful, you sex-crazed lug.” 

Arthur looked thoughtful.

“When you say everything...”

“I mean everything. From when I first came to Camelot to the moment I helped you defeat the Saxons.” Merlin then grinned at him. “Want to see all the times I saved your royal arse?”

And so they did. 

From vanquishing the Griffin (“You told Lancelot and not me?!”) to all the times they had played dice together at the tavern (“You cheated!” Arthur had cried out in injustice), Arthur looked utterly flabbergasted by exactly how much danger Merlin had seemed to throw himself into for Arthur’s sake.

And then it slowly got darker, with Merlin sacrificing his life over and over again for Arthur's. Arthur himself moved from amusement to staring at Merlin like he was mad.

He watched Merlin pull him out of the water after Sophia had tried to drown him as a sacrifice, he watched Merlin get poisoned by a nest of serkets by Morgana and left for dead. 

And then he watched Merlin go against everything he believed, everything he was, so Arthur wouldn’t die at Mordred’s hand.  _ There is no place for magic in Camelot. _

“Merlin…” Arthur had said, looking utterly poleaxed when he turned to him. They had been sitting on the ground beside Merlin’s counterpart, watching his eyes brim with tears as he struggled to contain himself. For once in his life, Arthur looked completely lost for words.

The last memory they watched together had been of Merlin in the Crystal Cave, trapped by Morgana and terrified without his magic. They watched silently as Balinor imparted his words of wisdom, so much gravitas in his voice that Merlin could see Arthur was rapt with attention, holding his breath with Balinor’s every word. 

_ “Merlin, you are more than a son of your father. You are son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of this world and you were born of that magic. You are magic itself. You cannot lose what you are.” _

“You  _ are _ magic itself,” Arthur said, turning to him with a look of such fierce pride that Merlin almost didn’t know what else to do with himself except reciprocate. 

“So are you, Arthur,” Merlin said, willing himself not to tear up. Arthur would never let him hear the end of it.

When the conjured butterfly flew out of the memory’s fingers, it circled around Arthur, as though it had always known that he would one day be there, sitting and watching this. 

And then the scene was changing again and they were back in Merlin’s office, strangely breathless considering the fact they hadn’t truly gone anywhere.

They looked at each other, having just lived their previous lifetime together again. Merlin was shaking, the smell of Camelot’s forests still in his nostrils, the magical buzz of the Crystal Cave still vibrating goosebumps against his skin.

Arthur clearly felt the significance of the moment too because he trembled, drinking in Merlin’s features, as though he was desperately searching for the memories they shared in every line of his face. 

“Arthur-” Merlin had croaked out with feeling but Arthur had already rushed forward to crash their lips together almost clumsily, intensely, his hands shaking on either side of Merlin’s face as he clutched at his cheekbones like they were the only things keeping him tethered to reality. Placing his own trembling hands on top of Arthur’s, Merlin felt their combined tremors melt away. Somehow, they had always managed to balance each other out. 

He then realised exactly where they were and what they were doing. It took every bit of strength in him to pull himself away. 

“Arthur,” Merlin muttered, going as far to try and duck Arthur’s lips as he relentlessly tried to swoop in for another kiss. “Arthur, we can’t do this here.”

“Why?” Arthur murmured, his lips trying to press into every available bit of skin he could find on Merlin’s face, including a nip to his left eyebrow and a saucy lick to an earlobe.

“Arthur, for God’s sake, you were my student just yesterday. I  _ taught _ you here.”

“Doesn’t count,” Arthur shot back stubbornly. “I was your king first.”

“You’re eighteen-” Merlin tried again.

“I’m an adult!” Arthur said hotly. “I’m doubly an adult because I’m also the bloody reincarnation of a man who’s older than you!”

“Yeah, well I’m  _ physically _ fifteen hundred years old!” 

“And I’m mentally older than that!”

“Like hell you are!” Merlin retorted, somehow needing to win this argument, which was by far the most ridiculous one he had ever taken part of (and he had been there during the War of Jenkins' Ear in 1739). “You trying to be the grown up in the room isn’t going to work, Arthur. Hell, it didn’t even work when we were in Camelot and you  _ were  _ older.”

“First of all, you being this ancient is pretty weird. Never knew I had a thing for geriatrics-“

Hey!” Merlin said slighted, because that was just unkind.

“Second, I’m the prince - I have the authority here, “ Arthur said, puffing his chest out like a strutting peacock. “If anyone is flaunting their position of power, it’s me. And as your prince, I demand you shut up and let me bloody defile you.”

“Arthur-” Merlin half-heartedly tried to argue again but Arthur was already closing back in and Merlin, who had always been so terribly weak for this man, let himself surrender to the furious lips against his own.

Merlin didn’t know how long they had been kissing. All he knew was that they had somehow ended up sprawled on top of his desk, with Arthur trying his damndest to get his hands down Merlin’s pants and his tongue as far down Merlin’s throat as it could possibly go when a sound made them turn their heads, mid-grope.

“Can you hear swelling music?” Arthur asked, his lips so swollen they looked obscene. Merlin was impressed by both Arthur’s determination to get in Merlin’s pants and his skill at multitasking because his hands didn’t pause for a second as he looked around the room for the sound.

“I honestly thought that was in my head,” Merlin responded because he had always been a terrible romantic. Arthur then twisted the hand he had down Merlin’s trousers, causing Merlin to let out a noise he didn’t even know he could physically  _ make _ . Archimedes, who had been hiding his feathery face under his wings for the last few minutes, let out an annoyed hoot before flying out the window, clearly having had enough of all this depravity. Evidently, human mating techniques were the last straw for him.

The noise, it turned out, was coming from Merlin’s painting of the almost-empty round table, where a lonely Gaius had been the only occupant. Looking at the painting now, Merlin was shocked to see it was more packed than Merlin had ever seen it.

All the knights were suddenly there, as well as Guinevere herself. Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Leon were resplendent in their armour while Guinevere wore her familiar plunging red velvet dress, all of them looking just as magnificent as they had in Camelot. It was as though their memories returning triggered their return to the painting, because they simply sat around the table as though they had always been there. Gwaine winked at what Arthur’s hand was doing, Gwen’s eyes twinkled and Leon, ever the gentleman, averted his eyes awkwardly to look at the drapes instead. 

The painted Gaius meanwhile gave Arthur a look of such severe disapproval that Merlin could almost see him jumping out of the picture to twist Arthur by the ear and lecture him about defiling his surrogate son without marrying him first.

But they weren’t the ones making the music.

That was courtesy of Sir Cadogan, who was sitting alongside them and was playing a fiddle with -- to Merlin’s surprise -- exceptional talent. Behind him, a choir that consisted of the wood nymphs, the Fat Lady and Violet were singing in tune beautifully as Godric himself conducted the entire session with his wand and his usual theatrical flair. Cadogan’s pony, as unmoved as always, chewed on the bottom of Gryffindor’s robes without the man noticing.

Merlin didn’t know whether to laugh or be touched.

“Sire,” Cadogan said when he noticed he had their attention, bowing with more grandeur, more meaning, than usual. His eyes were twinkling with unshed tears as he looked at Arthur. Arthur, realising the solemnity of the moment, had the infinite wisdom to remove his hand from Merlin’s crotch. “It’s good to finally have you back again. You have been missed, truly!”

“Cadogan,” Arthur said with a smile, shaking his head. “Still favouring your left side, I see.” Arthur then quirked his head at the pony. “Is that the beast that saved you from the Wyvern of Wye?”

“The very same, sire,” Caddogan said proudly. “You’ll be happy to know he and I have built a rapport over the years!”

“He doesn’t still throw you off, does he?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, all the time, sire!” Cadogan puffed out, as though proud of the fact. “I maintain it’s how he shows affection.” 

“Good, good,” Arthur said with a nod, as though hearing a report on the grain stores. He then looked at Merlin and his eyes immediately softened. “As much as I appreciate the reunion, Cadogan, I’m afraid I’m going to need some time alone with Merlin. Not that I don’t love mood music but I’d rather not besmirch him in front of you all.”

“I don’t mind,” said the Fat Lady with a leer.

Merlin would have scolded Arthur for the crudeness but an idea was already shaping in his mind. Pulling Arthur by the hand with excitement, he led him towards a painting he kept on the other side of the room, hidden in an alcove just out of view.

“Recognise it?” he asked him.

Stepping forward to peer at it closely, Arthur looked at the painting of his old bedroom in wonderment. 

“I know this painting,” Arthur said, soaking it in almost desperately. He touched the golden frame reverently, like it was a holy artifact of some sort. “I mean… it’s obviously my old bedroom in Camelot but I know _ this _ painting from this lifetime. It used to be in my room when I was a boy, on the mantle. A grumpy old man used to live in it and tell me off when my room was messy. Now I think about it, he looked a bit like your crazy Dragoon disgui-  _ Merlin!” _

Wincing, Merlin turned to him a little guiltily. 

“Yes?”

“Have you been spying on me from this painting?!” he demanded, pointing at said painting just in case Merlin’s stupidity confused it for another.

“In my defense, it’s my second home,” Merlin said, hands up placatingly. “If anything we were neighbours.”

Arthur was shaking his head, just staring at the frame in awe, as though he was worried it would blink away at any moment. With Hogwarts being the unpredictable mystery it was, it wasn’t the silliest of worries.

“How did you even get access to it?” Arthur asked, genuinely flummoxed. “You obviously didn’t paint it. You were always bloody rubbish at art. I distinctly remember the portrait you drew of Morgana looking like an ass in a dress.”

“Says the expert on asses,” Merlin said with an unimpressed sniff. He had been proud of that painting, damn it. His face soon dropped the pout, however, when the signature at the corner of Igraine’s painting shone back at him, like a melancholy memory, a forgotten smile. It made Merlin’s heart suddenly hurt from loss. Turning back to Arthur, Merlin smiled softly. “If you must know, your mum painted this for me, so I could watch over you.”

“... my mother?” Arthur looked back at the painting, studying it for a hint of her face in every brush stroke. His eyes looked brighter than usual as he ran over the details of the painting, as though just looking at it would bring him closer to her. “How did she know to paint it so accurately?”

“Seer,” Merlin said simply, just as Igraine had once said to him. He then held out his hand. ”Want to take a closer look?”

Pulling Arthur into the painting felt like revisiting a cherished old friend. Arthur looked as though he felt the exact same as he ran his hand over his bedspread and unfurled the rolls of parchment on his desk, familiar maps and treaties that his fingers recalled touching tens of lifetimes ago. Arthur even pulled back the heavy curtain by the window to open it completely, leaning out of the window to see the courtyard below. He was quiet as he looked down at the people bustling throughout the castle, knights, noblemen and servants going about their day.

“What are you thinking?” Merlin asked softly, resting his chin on Arthur’s shoulder from behind as they watched the cook haranguing her kitchen hands as they carried baskets of fresh vegetables up the castle steps.

“We’re home,” Arthur murmured back, before turning his head to press his lips against Merlin’s cheekbone. He then moved his mouth to Merlin’s ear, his breath hot and doing frankly ridiculous things to Merlin’s stomach. “Also? I finally get to see what you look like in my bed.” 

Merlin shivered in response to this.

“Arthur-” he began but Arthur had already turned around and got to his feet, backing Merlin towards said bed, his eyes piercing and single-minded. Merlin shuffled backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and happily let an eager Arthur push him flat out over the stark red bedspread. Merlin’s head landed straight onto plush pillows he was sure that he had last fluffed a millenia back, the day Arthur had departed for Camlann.

_ Camlann. _

Just the thought of the place made him clutch the Arthur of now almost desperately against him, wanting to chase those awful images away. Arthur eased himself over him like a living blanket, every part of their bodies pressed against each other, their foreheads touching.

It almost felt like a dream, being there with Arthur, in this place he knew better than almost any other. Here he was, lying on a bed he had made everyday and never lain in himself until now. It felt almost surreal and made him wonder what else he had missed out on back then.

Which is the moment Arthur sat up to pull off his shirt, causing every thought Merlin had ever had to spontaneously combust out of his head. Trying not to go cross eyed with lust, Merlin watched the Pendragon crest on Arthur’s chest roar into life, as though preening at Merlin for attention. It was just like its master.

Merlin instinctively ran his fingers over it, the animated fire under his touch nipping at his fingers with a tingly sort of heat. Before he even knew he was doing it, Merlin had leaned over, running his tongue over the mark, which made the dragon glow so brightly it was almost blinding. It tasted like pure unharnessed magic.

Arthur let out a noise that was no doubt illegal in most countries. 

“Merlin,” he groaned.

Merlin looked up at him cheekily through his lashes

“Was that an exclamation, like ‘Merlin’s beard!’ or were you just saying my name?”

“It was an order, you bloody idiot.” Arthur tried to say as imperiously, even as he combed his fingers through Merlin’s hair and pushed his mouth closer to his chest. “Circe, that shouldn’t feel so good.”

“Shush, I’m objectifying you here,” Merlin said, grazing his lips over a nipple. An almost tortured growl escaped from the back of Arthur’s throat.

“Well, it’s about bloody time you objectified me,” Arthur responded breathlessly, proving he was endlessly a selfish brat by tightening his grip on Merlin’s hair. “I’ve only waited years for you, you tease.”

Merlin leaned away from him at that, suddenly feeling overwhelming grief and sadness flood through him.

“And I’ve waited fifteen hundred.”

Whatever Arthur saw in his face made him immediately drop the teasing and pull Merlin tightly into his arms, his lips pressing against Merlin’s temple almost fiercely.

“I know,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. Merlin allowed himself to drown in his strength, letting Arthur hold him for once. Merlin had been waiting to rest for so long that now, at the end of it all, he felt every one of his years weighing down on him.

They were quiet for a moment, the force of their bond literally humming under their skins, when Arthur broke the silence.

“I can’t believe you waited so long for me,” he said softly, sounding floored. It was so very Arthur, Merlin thought, to always underestimate the love people had for him.

Merlin lifted his face from Arthur’s shoulder to cradle Arthur’s jaw firmly with both his hands, so he was looking pointedly into his eyes. There wasn’t a single bit of doubt in his gaze 

“I will always wait for you, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin said, the passion of his devotion thickening his voice. “I would have waited forever just to have you back again. I would have waited forever just for a  _ hint _ you might come back.”

Looking overwhelmed, Arthur ducked his head a little. Being as emotionally incontinent as he was, Merlin was surprised he hadn’t bolted out the room the minute feelings got into the conversation.

Which of course was the moment Arthur said,

“Can we go back to getting off again?”

Merlin walloped him on the head with a pillow, a ridiculously amused smile on his face.

Arthur grinned back, shamelessly unashamed.

“I’m being serious. You were every adolescent wank I had for the past 6 years, I’m literally dying here.”

“And you were mine back in Camelot, I think I win,” Merlin countered.

“Hey, you don’t have the monopoly on Camelot, you know.”

Merlin’s laughter stopped.

“Wait, what does that mean? You were very straight and very married to Gwen.”

“I was very bi and a king who couldn’t act on any feelings that would have torn Camelot apart in scandal,” Arthur corrected, throwing Merlin’s entire life view off its axis. “It had caused uproar enough being with Guinevere and she had been the right sex. Besides, I couldn’t put you in that position. You were so loyal, you would have jumped into bed with me just to please me.”

“Arthur… Arthur, are you joking right now?”

“I gave you my mother’s seal, Merlin.” Arthur said, like he was an idiot, sounding almost bitter. Even after all these years, the wounds seemed just as fresh. “And I kept you as my manservant, even when you were useless at chores. I should have made you my royal advisor years before but I was selfish. I wanted to keep you with me at all times.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say. Arthur looked almost proud of himself.

“Oh look, I shut you up. I really do have magical powers this time around.”

Merlin almost felt sullen.

“I loved you first.”

“Can’t prove it.”

“Are we really fighting about this?”

“Of course not, I obviously win,” Arthur said with an infuriating smirk, walking on his hands over Merlin like a prowling cat to force him onto his back. A thigh strategically placed between both of Merlin’s own, Arthur then bracketed Merlin between his arms and looked down at him from his elevated position like the monarch he was. He looked so regal and authoritative, his eyes glowing as gold as his mark, that Merlin gulped and had an irrational urge to bow at his feet. The amount of worship he felt for this man was frankly unhealthy.

“Remember when you once told me that you’d go through untold horrors before sharing a bed with me?”

“Technically, I died since then. I’m pretty sure that means we’re good to shag. Take your trousers off already.”

“And to think Gwen used to tell me you were a romantic,” Merlin teased before bellowing a “Hey!” when the laces on his trousers started to undo by themselves and shimmy impatiently down his hips. His magic, combined with Arthur’s, had clearly lost patience and had taken matters into their own invisible hands.

“You traitor,” Merlin muttered in betrayal at his trousers as they  _ thwipped _ off him in seconds, leaving him bare-legged. The trousers then sprinted to the nearest chair and draped over the back of it like a high-jumper. Arthur just grinned smugly as Merlin’s shirt did the same, tilting his head with interest to watch as the buttons undid themselves with a bit of a wiggle of a striptease, showing a bit of skin at a time. Clearly, all Merlin’s things were perverted exhibitionists.

Luckily for Merlin, Arthur’s clothes were just as eager to undress him as Merlin’s had been. One by one, every item of clothing was removed, with Arthur’s socks flying off in different directions like a pair of unstable fireworks, his trousers cartwheeling themselves on top of Merlin’s and his boxers flying off him with such eagerness that Arthur was thrown into the air in an awkward sort of somersault. Falling with an “oomph!” back on top of Merlin, his elbow going right into Merlin’s ribs, Merlin wasn’t surprised in the slightest that this is how their first time would go.

“Ow, you prat!” Merlin wheezed, smacking Arthur in the arm.

“It’s not my fault!” Arthur snapped back, smacking Merlin back, which soon devolved into wrestling, laughing and then making out so obscene that Merlin was convinced that Arthur’s tongue should be locked up in Azkaban for crimes against decency.

Even with his eyes closed, Merlin could feel their magic spinning around them frantically, almost like a loom of golden thread weaving around them like a cocoon, a floating bubble of magic that tied them together. He felt weightless, his body not even on the bed anymore as they lifted into the air, feeling like astronauts in zero gravity. The only thing grounding Merlin was Arthur holding him tightly, nails digging into Merlin’s hips. He then slid his hands down Merlin’s thighs to hike Merlin’s legs around his waist, rubbing against him intimately with nothing but clear intention in his movements. Opening his eyes, Merlin met gold eyes again, begging for permission, golden sparks buzzing against their bare skin like freshly-popped champagne. 

Merlin had never nodded affirmation quicker for anything in his life.

When Arthur entered him, it felt like coming home. 

All the emptiness he had carried inside himself for centuries seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye, all the pain and the heartbreak seemed to vanish. Merlin didn’t just feel like himself again, he felt  _ complete,  _ so full of Arthur he couldn’t  _ breathe _ . 

Merlin threw his arms around Arthur’s neck and kissed him desperately until his lips felt numb, so overwhelmed by every press of Arthur against his body --  _ inside _ his body -- he felt like he was going to explode. Their magic continued to spin frantically around them, humming at such a high frequency that Merlin could have sworn he heard a glass shatter and chairs fall over, as though he and Arthur were the epicenter of a tornado, spinning ferociously around and around and destroying everything around them. 

Merlin could feel wind whipping his hair as he threw back his head, his mouth hanging open with pleasure, jerking with every thrust Arthur drove into him. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. He felt like this was the only thing that could kill him. He also felt like he would die if he didn’t have more. 

For someone who had felt he had nothing but time, it all seemed to go by too fast. With one last push, Arthur pressed his face into Merlin’s neck and bit down hard, shuddering with completion, the magical bubble around them quite literally bursting like an explosion and dropping them back onto the bed.

Trying to get his breath back, Merlin clung tiredly onto Arthur with all the remaining strength he had.

_ You’re not taking this away from me _ , Merlin told fate so fiercely that he felt the room literally tremor as he thought it. Feeling almost smug, Merlin sprawled back down on Arthur’s chest. He felt he had made his point. 

“Wow,” said Arthur, sounding sort of strangled, as though even his tongue was shagged out. “We… literally floated.”

“Mmmhmm,” Merlin agreed sleepily. 

“Like, in a bubble.”

“Yup,” Merlin agreed, not adding anything else. He had as much insight into why that happened as Arthur. Somewhere he could hear Kilgharrah irritably reminding him again about coins and destiny but Merlin chose to ignore him for once. Bringing Kilgharrah into the bedroom was where he drew the line.

Sighing happily, Merlin rested his temple against Arthur’s sweaty shoulder, contentment humming over them as the sparks their combined magic had created fell over their bare skin like gold snowflakes. Merlin felt them settle over him for a moment, thrumming pleasantly where they made contact before melting away.

He let his fingers go back to tracing over Arthur’s mark, still thrilled by how responsive the dragon was as it chased after his finger like a cat with a ball of yarn.

Merlin could have honestly dropped dead right then and said it was worth it. He let himself enjoy the moment for a few more minutes before heaving himself up on his elbow and looking at Arthur seriously. As much as he wanted to stay here forever, they had a hell of a lot of work in front of them.

“Arthur, what happens now?” Merlin had asked.

Eyed closed, Arthur was lying sprawled like a drunk lethifold, golden magic radiating off his skin like he was a star. He looked like a giant, lazy jungle cat basking in the sun.

“Hmmm,” he hummed before popping one eye open. “Give me ten minutes, I’ll be ready to go again.” 

Merlin smacked him in the chest.

“Not that, pervert,” Merlin laughed, although he mentally jotted that information down for later. “I mean with the Ministry, They arrested the Minister too, didn’t they?”

“I must say, Merlin, I do love when you talk about Aredian when we’re in bed,” Arthur commented wryly. “Shall we talk about Gaius, too? How many other old men should we mention? How about Agravaine?”

“Considering the fact you’ve just slept with someone older than all those people combined, you can shut up.” 

Arthur snapped both eyes open, clearly having not thought of that before. He then shook his head aggressively, like a dog who had water in its ears, as though doing that would shake the thought from where it had clung onto his brain.

Merlin took pity on him and leaned over to kiss his cheek. 

“So, what are our next steps when we get out of here?”

“We help repeal my father’s laws,” Arthur said, his mouth curled with a determined frown. “Start building sanctuaries for displaced magical beings. Who knows, maybe we might be able to drop the statute of secrecy and start helping muggles in the open, sharing our knowledge with them. Homelessness, starvation, poverty... none of that needs to happen if you have the right spells and potions in your arsenal. Who knows, maybe we can finally become one united nation.”

“Albion,” Merlin whispered, feeling overwhelmed.  _ This  _ was why Arthur was the Once and Future King. Merlin could see the world he wanted to build and it was glorious.

“They’ve already assigned you a seat in the Wizengamot, did you hear? Harry was telling me. They’re also trying to make you Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. People are losing their minds that you’ve returned. I’m old news. I can’t believe you’ve upstaged me.”

“I hate politics,” Merlin moaned because he really, really did.

“You’re also going to marry me.”

Merlin almost banged his head on the bed post. Arthur had dropped it so casually into the conversation, it was as thought he had thrown a verbal dungbomb at Merlin and sprinted off.

“Arthur-“ 

“I know, I know, you’ll look ridiculous in a crown. How will it even fit over your ears?”

“That is the worst proposal I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve technically been proposing to you for years.”

“Those don’t count,.”

“Fine, want me to do it properly?”

“Arthur, where are you going? Oh my god, you’re not seriously-” Because Arthur had jumped out of the bed, still stark naked, grabbing his wand on the nightstand and waving it once to light every candle in the room. He then turned the wand on himself and Merlin had a moment of panic that he was going to kill himself in a macabre declaration of true love when he tapped his bare shoulder and links of metal started to build over him, one after the other, crawling over his skin to cover him completely.

It was Arthur’s armour.

“Arthur-” Merlin tried to say again but words failed him. The rest of his outfit began to form, liquid gold shaping around his temples to create his crown to lastly his cape, flowing out majestically behind him in blood-red and gold, the dragon stitched on the back as animated as his mark.

He looked exactly as he had at his coronation. 

Arthur then reached out his arm, his eyes full of emotion.

“Merlin?” he said, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. 

Merlin was shaking, even as he reached back to take Arthur’s outreached arm, gripping his hand around Arthur’s forearm as he had done so many times before, whenever he made him a promise.

He wasn’t sure whether it was his magic or Arthur’s but Merlin felt silken threads wind around his arms, forming into a shirt. The same happened to his legs, rich hose snaking up his thighs. Rich red velvet formed next, running over his shoulders like liquid. 

It was Arthur’s customised jacket. It even had the same spot on the inside, where Merlin had accidentally singed it on a candle after drinking himself to a stupor after Arthur and Gwen’s wedding. He had been happy for them, he _ had _ but wine had made him melancholy and poor Gaius had had to rub his back as he vomited into the nearest latrine.

It suddenly all felt too much. His magic felt like it was trying to burst out of him.

And then Arthur dropped down to one knee.

“Holy fucking shit,” Merlin said.

“Shut up, I haven’t started yet,” Arthur said through a smile but his hands were sweating. He was nervous. 

Merlin, who was pretty sure he was the surest thing in the world for Arthur, kept quiet for once and let him speak.

“Merlin,” he said, his crooked smile playing on his lips, “bane of my existence, the worst manservant I ever had, the worst teacher who has ever taught me…”

“Charmer,” Merlin interjected with amusement.

“... the universe is obviously playing some evil sort of cosmic joke on me that forces us to be together forever in every bloody lifetime but… to be honest?” Here he smiled at Merlin, so soft it made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I really wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Arthur then seemed to conjure a ring seemingly out of thin air. It floated in the air between them, glowing as it hovered. Looking at the ring, Merlin felt blood pounding in his ears. It wasn’t just a ring. He  _ knew _ that ring. He had seen it sitting on Arthur’s finger for the entirety of their time together in Camelot. It looked exactly as Merlin had remembered, the thin strip of gold embedded in the middle of a thick silver band.

Arthur shrugged, overly casual. It was a ridiculous gesture considering the man was quite literally on his knees and dressed in regal-wear, his cape flowing majestically behind him as his crown glittered almost obnoxiously back at Merlin, as though it was showing off.

Merlin apparently wasn’t the only one who could enchant inanimate objects. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Arthur’s things were vain peacocks. 

“I know marriage is sort of redundant since we’re already joined through space and time and coins or whatever but you know me, I’m a traditionalist.”

“You really aren’t,” Merlin said, but he was beaming like a lunatic.

“That’s a yes, right?”

“You haven’t even asked me yet.”

“Merlin, you absolute nincompoop, marry me.”

“Okay,” Merlin said glibly before getting down on his knees as well and wrapping his arms around Arthur’s shoulders to pull him into a kiss. Merlin wasn’t sure which one of them had pushed the other to the ground but he was pleasantly surprised to realise that Arthur really did mean it when he said he would be ready to go again in ten minutes.

“Where did you even find the ring again?” Merlin murmured some time later, still on the floor as Arthur pulled his discarded cape over them like a blanket. Trailing his lips lazily along Arthur’s collarbone, Merlin snorted as Arthur -- being the pampered prince he was -- moved his head to the side to give him more access to his neck. Even with kisses, he was imperious and demanding. Merlin shouldn’t have found it cute. 

“It was in one of my mum’s old drawers,” Arthur explained, reaching over to stroke a finger over the ring in question, gold sparks trailing across Merlin’s skin with every touch of Arthur’s hand. “I didn’t even know why it was so significant but I just… knew I had to take it.”

“It came back to you full circle,” Merlin marveled, feeling overwhelmed. Destiny really was a hell of a thing. “Igraine gave it to you back then too, didn’t she? In Camelot?”

“On her deathbed, or so Gaius once told me. My father never spoke about it again, even when I started wearing it. He’s the one who first crafted it for her. I’m sure it brought back bad memories.”

Merlin almost choked.

“Wait, your father bought this ring?” Merlin spluttered, kind of horrified by the prospect he had somehow inadvertently engaged himself to Uther.

Arthur rolled his eyes, poking Merlin in the side of the head before he thought himself into a frenzy.

“Relax, you moron, it belonged to my mother. It’s still one of the few things of hers I really have.” Merlin looked down at the ring again sitting there like it had always belonged on his hand. The metal felt heavy and warm against his skin, like a great responsibility. There was so much history, so much love in every molecule of metal. It almost felt too good for the likes of him. “Arthur, if this is that precious, you should keep it.”

“No take backs, you agreed to marry me, so there. It stays.” Merlin wasn’t going to continue to argue. Taking it off now would feel like severing a limb.

“You know, if this is the proposal, I can’t imagine what the wedding will be like.” 

“Absolute pandemonium,” Arthur said, sounding mildly terrified at the thought. “All your magical kids will want to show up. I don’t even know if vampires can walk into a church without bursting into flames. Also, the pews will be too tight for the centaurs and too high for the house-elves. And don’t get me started on where the hell we’re going to put all the dragons…”

Merlin had a wild vision of Kilgharrah officiating the ceremony, wearing a bowtie and a hat while the other dragons sneakily lapped at the holy water and tried not to set fire to the other guests by accidentally breathing on them. For some reason, Merlin thought it all sounded brilliant.

“Either way, we’ll have to engorge the doorways to let Grawp in,” Merlin tried to argue. “I think he should be a flower boy.” 

“And Cadagon and the knights can be ushers,” Arthur put forth which made Merlin laugh out loud as he imagined the little knight bounding from painting to painting, bellowing for the guests to follow him on the noble quest to their seat. 

“It sounds like absolute bedlam,” Merlin said, beaming up at Arthur as though he had never heard anything sound more perfect. 

After fifteen hundred years it felt like a new beginning.

With Arthur’s heartbeat thumping reassuringly against his ear, Merlin felt contentment wash over him. He honestly couldn’t wait to reach the next fifteen hundred with him.

“So, when’s the date, clotpole?” he asked.

Somewhere, he could hear Kilgharrah breathing out “About bloody time.”

Merlin honestly couldn’t have agreed more.

_ Finis _


End file.
